by some horrifying internet accident, i ended up on the daily mailing list for Victoria's Secret. don't get me wrong, i like a quality bra, a cheap "flirty" body spray, and a 5/$25 undies sale as much as the next girl. but i am going to do my best to get that elsewhere from here on out because it's becoming more and more obvious that the sole purpose of VS is to make women feel horrible about their bodies. the first time i was massively offended by VS was my freshman year, when i purchased a bathing suit online from their website. the instructions were to purchase your bottoms by your underwear size (medium) and your top by your bra size (at the time, 36B-- in which size i owned several VS bras that fit great). i was beyond excited for the package of pushup-y wonder to arrive at my dorm room; i checked the mail every day and pondered with my roommate who had purchased the same bathing suit (in a smaller size, both top and bottom) when they would arrive and we could be Beach Bombshell PrincessAngelSexiesssss together.

imagine my chagrin when, upon receiving the package and tearing into its contents like a hungry wolf, i discovered that i literally could not make the two ends of the top meet in the back. upon sucking in, finagling, etc, i finally squeezed the freshman 400 into the demeaning swimwear. it created a 1 or 2-inch roll of fat both on top of and underneath the straining elastic. my roommate's fit perfectly. i did what any self-esteem-void 18-year-old girl would do and immediately started sobbing into my newfound fat rolls. "why doesn't it fit?? i bought it EXACTLY how i was supposed to buy it! why does YOURS fit and mine doesn't?! the fucking bras fit me! what the fucking fuck i'm dying alone hand me some fucking ice cream", etc. in a world where 1/3 of adults are obese, a little size forgiveness (more than one option for back strap length, a tie rather than a clasp, etc) is an absolute must or you're just straight up fucking those of us who carry 10 lbs in our stomachs instead of our tits like your models.

my second (and overall more valid/less whiny) complaint involves their email marketing tactics and rampant photoshopping of women who are already fucking insanely hot. i got an email from them this morning- subject: "Gorgeous goes to the beach!". upon opening, i was assaulted with a picture of Candace Swanepoel- bronzed, beautiful perfection in a bikini with a spray tan and an expression that's somewhere between "jealous, you sad fat person?" and "GOD i wish i was having sex right now! someone bang meeee ;)"

(...ok, maybe that part is just my perception (like the entire rest of this blog). whatever-- $10 you could picture the face from my description.)

but the clincher is the tagline on the photo. "Hi, Gorgeous! New push-up bikini that's made to be noticed."

um, no. don't fucking call me gorgeous if you feel that it's necessary to photoship candace swanepoel's perfect 100-lb body and make it both smaller AND curvier in order for it to be good enough for your ads. seriously, google victoria's secret photoshopping and be horrified- http://jezebel.com/5863568/victorias-secret-angel-lightly-rests-on-severed-limb this article shows the ridiculous standards that permeate advertising and make everyone feel just a little worse about themselves because we don't look like that.

it's ok, though. because NO ONE looks like that. not even candace.

so fuck victoria's secret. i'm officially unsubscribing. you can harass someone else with your bullshit. i've been trying to like my body for too long to lose even an inch of that progress to someone that wants to remove the tiniest backroll from a supermodel.

why i hate "singles' awareness day".

and i don't mean that in the way that it sounds at first-- i LOVE valentine's day. what i hate is the sad, bitter single people that can't calm down and let everyone else enjoy the day.

i am always single. the last time i was even close to being in a relationship was over a year ago, and that was more a pathetic, last-ditch attempt to make someone date me who never wanted to date me in the first place. i had one valentine's day with a boyfriend, my jr. year of highschool, and it was horrible because we were about to break up and it became even more apparent when we were forced to stare at each other over expensive steak for 2 hours with nothing to talk about.

anyway, i digress. the point here is: SOMEONE LOVES YOU! on good days, i am a brash bitch who errs on the side of hurting peoples feelings and hoping that i do it in a loving enough way that people will get over it within a week. on bad days, i don't get out of bed and whine about the most ridiculous white girl problems and am completely insufferable and impossible to be around-- and my mommy, daddy, and a flattering amount of people who are in no way obligated to love me, still love the shit out of me.

this year more than any other year, i've learned that if you can't be yourself around your friends, you need new friends. after 4 years at a huge university that can be mean and shallow as fuck, i've also discovered that no matter how creepy/weird/shy/obnoxious/boring you are- there IS a place for you with other creepy/weird/shy/obnoxious/boring people that will just love the shit out of YOU for being creepy/weird/shy/obnoxious/boring. hell, maybe you'll even meet that one guy out there who also loves whiskey, anime porn and Adventuretime marathons and you guys can spend like 3 months doing that and whatever else you kids like to do.

anyway, i digress again.

so, don't wish anyone a happy single's awareness day. don't put up a facebook status that looks anything like this: "FUCK VDAY I WOULD MUCH rATHEr CHEW OFF MY OWN ArM AND WHY THE *FUCK* DID HE NEVEr SPrING TO TAKE *ME* TO THE MELTING POT BUT NOW HE CAN TAKE THISBITCH!?! FML GONNA GO BLACK OUT". don't hate valentine's day because you don't have someone to suck face with every day and some nights, you have to leave the bar and sleep by yourself instead of next to someone that occasionally calls you stupid names like "SCHMOOPYYYYY!"

desperation and bitterness aren't cute. as someone who is both desperate and also incredibly bitter, i have overcome my automatic hate response toward a day that favors the Schmoopies of the world-- which means you can, too. be grateful. love love.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

dear chelsea settles,

i am not trying to be a dick,
however:

you deserve your own tv show as much as i deserve to be the next fucking Pope. you're 18, you hate yourself and WHOA! you moved out of your parents' house?! WATCH OUT! we have... every single 18 year old girl, ever.

the fuck is so special about you? the fact that you're obese? nope- that makes you 1 out of every 3 american adults. the fact that you're insecure? homegirl, it's called being a teenager. i cried over my ginger mullet and giant nose for like 12 years. at least you can do something about your issues other than plastic surgery. ohhhh, ok! i got it. it's the fact that you want to work in fashion!!

...just like every other girl who wasn't smart enough for college. did you go to cosmetology school too?

this is harsh, but so is the real world. i understand hating your weight, believe me. but excuse me for being just a liiiiittle bit bitter that, for some reason, being LITERALLY EXACTLY LIKE EVERYONE ELSE made you rich and famous.

"awkward."

watching the mtv marathon of that show today. terrible acting, completely unrealistic, but DAMN jenna hamilton is fucking hot. i would go gay for her awkward mannerisms and perfect sloppy braid in two seconds.

she also blogs in every episode, which promptly reminded me that i haven't written anything in almost a year. predictable as always ;)

i don't really have anything to say today, other than that i'm going to set an alarm on my phone-- every day-- to write something here. ANYTHING. what i had for lunch, how much i hate men on a scale of 1-10, plans for the weekend, etc, just to get back into writing because i miss it a whole lot.

so if anyone reads this, ever, stay tuned. 8====>

the mind eraser

this entire semester i have been creepily, borderline stalkery in love with my methods teacher. he's like 26, a phd student, grizzly and delicious JUST how i like my mens. i had the highest grade in his class and he always teased me, publicly, for being the only person in the whole room with a brain. i took his final exam on friday morning, figured that would pretty much be the last time i saw him and cried inside.

I WAS WRONG!

through a string of clusterfuck party failures, my friend melanie and i ended up at the tennessee strip last night. under normal circumstances i would not be caught dead at this establishment, but "finals week ended yesterday and i haven't gotten wasted in 7 whole days and my drinking plans just got canceled" does NOT constitute normal circumstances. we're surrounded by bros and hoes and i am pounding rum/diet liquor pitchers like i'm getting paid $11 for drinking them instead of the other way around. then from across the bar (it's U-shaped and we're on one end of the U) someone BELLOWS my name. i look up and there, practically shining in all of his delicious fucking hotness, is my TA. we smile and wave; both kind of awkward because, well, he's in love with me but we can't get married right now because he hasn't posted my grade yet. so i kind of look away, screaming under my breath to melanie that "ohmygod that's the TA i was telling you about look at him he loves me and now he's talking to his friends and they're all looking at me i totally have a girl boner".

she looks up. "hey, i think he's trying to get your attention."

he is. in fact he is yelling my name more and straight up waving his arms. "HEY! c! hey. DON'T MOVE."

i stop breathing in case that counts as moving.

he points us out to the bartender and 5 minutes later she turns around with 2 large shots. "mind erasers! kahlua on the bottom, vanilla vodka and 7up on top. drink it really fast and you'll only taste the kahlua. they're delicious!" she's hot and looks like an alcoholic so i take her word for it. he smiles and cheerses me across the bar. my ice cold hearts starts to melt and i take the shot despite my raging brain erection.

i never saw him again-- i think he and his friends left-- but i was not done yet. after sending several textual gems to bffs, i was getting antsy. around 2:15 is the point in my pimp strategy that i usually send the "something cute and obscure that happened when we saw each other tonight, haha :)" text message, but of course i don't have his number. so i did the most logical thing i could think of in my liq pitcher haze and sent him an email via blackboard. my shamelessness truly knows no bounds.

"best shot ever."

he writes me back, ONE MINUTE LATER:
"Glad you enjoyed it."

WE. ARE. GETTING. FUCKING. MARRIED. oh mygod he is so delicious and he loves me and i might be exaggerating this by like 7-10% but, as mel put it, "he bought you a shot called the mind eraser. he at LEAST wants to get in your pants. what other message could that possibly be sending?!"

i'm going to go watch dexter and touch myself with happiness- just kidding about the first part. ;)

oh and ps-- the texts i was sending were truly magical. here's the best one: "my delicious grizzly (now former) prof that i have been eyefucking for 5 months just BOUGHT ME A SHOT CALLED A MIND ERASER. trying to fuck me y/n/m?? i'm really going tol rape him either way so consider that in ur answer". i am everyone's favorite friend. <3

day 10

i wrote, with a little backtracking, to dearlife. which you should read anyway because it's pretty great.

xo.

i think i miss you most on wednesdays, and saturdays.

as evidenced by the title, i have been listening to way too much dashboard. i spent the entire weekend horizontal- sleeping or watching tv or staring at the wall trying not to picture any of the many things about him that i loved. 6 days later, here is a breakdown (how ironic) of how one should handle a breakup... or at least how i'm doing it.

day 0: get dumped. leave work with the explanation "i'm just not having a very good day." cry. cry so much that you literally can't breathe and your face goes numb and you can't do anything about the gallons of mucus leaking out of your nose because there is a brick in your sinuses. if you have friends, do this at their houses. take shots of tequila, which won't make clearly explaining the horror you have just experienced 9 times any easier. make long distance phone calls in order to do this with other friends who have been rude enough to go to college in other countries instead of holding your little retarded hand for the past 2 years. eventually, stop crying, but make sure you start again when you hear the dirty rap song whose lyrics were the caption of one of his profile pictures or see someone driving the same kind of car that he drives (if his car is a black jeep liberty, you're fucked.)

day 1: go back to work. do NOT wear makeup. FEROCIOUSLY facebook stalk the shit out of him and look unstable enough that your boss doesn't try to stop you. look at 50+% of all of his tagged pictures, the profiles of any girls that have written on his wall in the past month, and anything that he has commented on-- esPECIALLY if it belongs to dumb cunt slores... i mean, other girls.

get the fuck off of facebook. delete all texts in your phone from him. yes, even the one where he told you your legs were beautiful and the one where you two reminisced about the awesome time you had at margarita wednesday the previous night. you know what? fuck it. delete his fucking phone number. you don't need it. and if you do, you can find it on facebook which is the only reason you are deleting it at all. let's be real here.

go to an iron and wine concert or something equally emotionally charged. sob into your hands and make everyone in your vicinity really uncomfortable. go to sleep.

day 2: if this day is not saturday, repeat day 1 until it is. if this day is saturday, you are slightly luckier than the average swollen-faced fat dumped bitch. eat everything, or eat nothing-- everyone's different! don't bathe. watch avatar. watch the millionaire matchmaker and throw shit at the tv because let's face it, these old ugly bitches are GOING to find love RIGHT NOW with the help of patti stanger as you sit transfixed and probably sobbing again into a box of cheez-its. have chick fil a for dinner with your mom. watch a pivotal football game which, let's face it, almost gave me a heart attack in my fragile state. have a beer. ONE. BEER. go to sleep. have gut-wrenching dreams in which your recent ex has sex with your best friend right in front of you.

day 3: if this day is not sunday, you didn't repeat day 1 enough times and you're a stupid bad listener. wake up and roll over at like 11:30am. cry on the dog- she doesn't mind. catch up on 9 eps of grey's anatomy and 3 of dexter in bed. talk to your parents about how they need to support you when your only life partner is Hypothetical Cat Vlad. your dad will laugh. your mom will make a note to call your therapist in the morning while simultaneously suggesting that Vlad be a white cat so as not to shed on your wedding dress.

bathe at like 9pm. maybe wash your hair too, but you can pretend to be sick or that you're going to exercise in the morning if that step is too much. have gut wrenching dreams about running into your recent ex with his new wildebeest slut and you are fatter than you are when you went to sleep.

day 4: HOLY SHIT MONDAYS SUCK. wake up and attempt a workout. you can't rebound if you look like a bowl of banana pudding, amiright? marvel at the fact that until today, you have not seen your own face without any traces of makeup on it since you were 13.

decide that today is a good day to wear makeup. (don't panic- you're going to look like an alien from the planet bad transvestite. your eyelashes aren't used to this shit! what are you DOING to me?!?) wear pants that are crafted of jean instead of fleece, AND a bra that has cups. go to work and fake smile a lot. tell everyone you had a great weekend catching up on sleep, when in reality you were waking up every hour or so seeing and feeling thousands of red ants crawling in your bed.

day 5: deactivate your facebook. stalking is no longer an option. you are whiny and BORED! DYE YOUR HAIR! but not all of it because you're a pansy ass bitch. just the bottom half- chestnut. watch glee, cry like someone killed your dog when they sing "just the way you are" because who is ever going to like YOU just the way you are and never want to change anything about YOUR face? i usually don't take my makeup off at night which means it is still on in the morning and my eyes are red and since i'm a ginger i look like the bride of chucky. yeahhh buddy- just the way i am.

put on a cute shirt and go out drinking. accept a date from some guy that followed you around for 15 minutes. he's in the army. he wants to take you to dinner and a movie. whatever, i'll take a free pasta dish and glass/bottle of wine. see you friday, brandon!

day 6: you went to yoga and communed with your feelings! it felt good. you feel a little more like yourself. a jaded, world weary version of yourself, but still better than the version that feels like a flesh-eating virus is eating its entire chest cavity every time he friends a new miami bitch on facebook.

tomorrow is a week. we'll see how my chest cavity is doing then.