Saturday, October 6, 2012

Skinny Curvy Girls


I don't usually like to focus on things that "bother me", but there is something that has been bothering me for awhile now--in the same way that it bothers me when people say "ax" instead of "ask". Or "imparticular" instead of "in particular". Or when people call me "Sweetie". 

I ain't yo' sweetie.

Anyway, I'd like to talk about this idea that “curvy” somehow is now a euphemism for “fat”.

Now, I have no intention of showing you pictures of "fat girls who aren't actually fat", and then saying things like:

"OMG SHE'S SO BEAUTIFULLLLL!"

or

"Let's compare her to an anorexic girl and see which one is more BEAUTIFULLLLLL!"

or

"Marilyn Monroe was curvy and she was so BEAUTIFULLLLLL!"

Sorry to disappoint you, Tyra Banks, but that's not what I'm here for.

No, I'm here to tell you that it is mathematically incorrect to be calling so-called "curvy" girls "curvy". So you better stop it.

To begin, let's look at a standard woman's sizing chart:

Numeric
Waist
Hip
00
23.5
33
0
24.5
34
2
25.5
35
4
26.5
36
6
27.5
37
8
28.5
38
10
30
39.5
12
31.5
41
14
33
42.5
16
34.5
44
18
36.5
46


Now, if your idea of a good time is creating tables in Excel like me, you would find that the waist-to-hip ratio is smaller for the smaller sizes:

Numeric
Waist
Hip
Ratio
00
23.5
33
0.712121212
0
24.5
34
0.720588235
2
25.5
35
0.728571429
4
26.5
36
0.736111111
6
27.5
37
0.743243243
8
28.5
38
0.75
10
30
39.5
0.759493671
12
31.5
41
0.768292683
14
33
42.5
0.776470588
16
34.5
44
0.784090909
18
36.5
46
0.793478261



Here is a graphic representation of this phenomenon:

(I'm very sorry, but this masterpiece is not for sale.)

As you can see, there is a greater curve of the body to the smaller size because it has to cover more distance in a shorter period than the larger size (because you don't also get taller if you get fatter, or shorter if you get skinnier, except for kids and old people).

Put even more plainly, if your body type follows this sort of chart, if you gained a lot of weight, your waist to hips would eventually be 1:1 and there would be NO curve; the fatter you were, the less curvy you would be.

And the skinnier you were, the more curvy you would be.

All right... so I know that a lot of people put on weight differently, and I know that a lot of people have different body types and may not follow sizing charts exactly. Some people are shaped like this:

Or this:

Or this:

Or this:



And you are all beautiful in your own special way. (At least to your mother. Or maybe to a blind person.)

But the point I was trying to make was that sometimes (maybe even usually), girls who fit smaller sizes are actually curvier than girls who fit larger sizes.

Hence, it is NOT correct to use "curvy" as a synonym for "overweight", as this is frequently inaccurate, misleading, and it is causing our youth to fail the math portion of their SATs. (I mean, probably.)

Unless, of course, you're talking about "curvy" as a description of the body from the side view:


Then I'd be ok with that.




Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Crying in Public

Sitting on the subway, I noticed a man sitting across from me. As he seemed relatively attractive, I did the one thing I always do when I see something interesting: I stare at it.

So I stared him for awhile. I stared at his dapper clothes. I stared at his expensive watch. I stared at his "I'm not trying too hard hair", trying to figure out how much of a lie that really was.


Then all of a sudden, his shoulders started shaking. I thought to myself, "Maybe he has the hiccups".


But then they started shaking more, so I thought to myself, "Maybe he's that guy who was on The Today Show who had the hiccups FOREVER!" But then I remembered that that was a 12-year-old girl. 

So then I thought, "Maybe his shoulders are shaking because he has Tourette's!" It was at that moment that I noticed the tears coming down his face, and I realized the truth of his shaking shoulders. 
"You poor thing," I thought to myself. "You don't have to be sad that you have Tourette's."

Surprisingly, People Crying in Public, or PCP, is not such a rare occurrence in the big apple. I see approximately 2 PCPs per week--and I rarely go outside.

But as the wise sage Rihanna once said, "You're so ugly when you cry. Please, just cut it out."

Yes, Rihanna, I couldn't have said it better myself.

So, to help the population, I've compiled a list of things you could be doing instead of crying in public.

1. Stop crying in public.


2. Ride the subway without crying in public.


3. Take the elevator without crying public.


4. Eat a hamburger without crying public.


5. Buy a sweater vest without crying in public.


As you can see, there are a plethora of activities you could be doing instead of crying in public.


Because just as the wise sage Rihanna once said, "I'mma make you my bitch cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake cake." 

I couldn't have said it better myself.


Editors note from 2016: Uhmmmmmmmm what? I totally cry in public like everyday. 2012 me was so emotionally immature.

On Birthdays


            “Today’s my birthday!”

            “Happy birthday!” Rick, the guy behind the cash register at the concession stand, said. I felt like we had made a connection. A deep, meaningful bond. I smiled.

            “Thank you,” I said, as I realized that telling anyone it’s your birthday basically requires them to respond with a “happy birthday”, regardless of if they actually give a damn about your happiness.

            “Hmmm so… how much is the candy?” I asked.

            “It’s different prices,” Rick said.

            “Like what?” I asked.

            “Well this one is like four dollars, I think. Let me check. It’s four dollars. This other one is… four dollars. I think that this one is four-fifty, but I’ll have to look. No—it’s four dollars.”

            “Ok, let me figure out the average cost and get back to you.”

            As I mulled over my candy purchase, I turned and saw the line of people behind me, staring at me. Was it because I had already spent ten minutes too long at the register trying to figure out what I wanted? Was it because I had been flirting with a gay cash register man? I didn’t know for certain, but I was pretty sure it was because I had nice hair.

            I looked at the woman behind me. She looked happy to see me, even though she was frowning. I was glad I had skimmed through a body language book that told me how to read beyond obvious facial expressions.

            “All right,” I said to Rick. “I’ll take your overpriced candy, and your sexy cheekbones too.”

            Rick looked confused. Or maybe he was turned on.

             “Or just the candy. The candy is good.”

            “That’ll be five dollars,” Rick said.




Monday, March 12, 2012

Something Different

This past weekend I decided to do something different.


Where do buses go? I wondered.

I didn't have long to wonder, because soon I found myself on a moving vehicle. And so began my journey out of the Capitol of the World to visit the Capitol of the Nation--Washington, D.C.

Here is a picture from the front of the bus:



After a pleasant and long-ish bus ride, I arrived in D.C. It was then that I realized that everything I knew about the city I had learned from The Simpsons. And although I did learn more in those 22 minutes of television than I probably have in most of the rest of my life, I didn't know what I was going to do, or where I was going to do it, or how I was going to get there once I decided where it was I was going. However, I am from New York, so I figured I would figure it out.

And I did.

Here is a picture of part of a bike I stole:


(Ok, I rented it, but don't tell anyone because I want people to think I'm badass enough to have stolen a bike.)

After I stole my stolen bike, I rode around the city long time--where there are like no bike laws. You can ride on the sidewalk, or in the street, or in the street and on the sidewalk in a parade. I know this because I did all those things and there were police everywhere and no one arrested me. (But they also didn't know I was a bike-stealing criminal.)

So then I saw some things and took some pictures of them.

Here are some things that I saw that I took pictures of:





There was supposed to be a lake here ^ but it had disappeared. (A sign said it was "closed for renovation", but I'm pretty sure it was just the work of David Copperfield.)

As you can see, D.C. is pretty nice and not grungy at all like I had expected. However, I did think it was a very strange place because there were kids there. Like, just existing! Like, there were kids just existing all over the place! Which is totally weird! Whenever I see a kid in NYC, my first reaction is to assume they're a midget or just a very short person.


So anyway, there's this thing that's a Cherry Blossom Festival thing, which apparently is a big thing that I'd never heard about. And anyway, lots of people apparently come to this thing when it happens, but when I was there, no one was there for the cherry blossoms because the festival wasn't happening yet. Which begs the question: if a cherry blossom tree blooms and no one is around to see it... uh... well, I think I started that question wrong. Anyway, the answer is yes.

Like here:



And here:




*Note: above pictures can also be used as examples of pretty nice lampposts.


I decided I had enough bike riding, so I decided to go to the National Museum of Air and Space. Which was basically the best museum in the history of ever for someone like me who wanted to be an astronaut as a little girl. I learned lots of cool things about air pressure and how planes and rockets fly and stuff like that.

Then it was evening.

Here is a picture that represents evening because it was evening when I took this picture:



Then I decided that I was hungry.


Here is a picture of some things as a synecdoche of the restaurant in which I ate food:




Then I drank something that was blue and then I was drunk.

Then I decided I was tired so I found a hotel that was really nice that was only $10 more than the Motel 6 (probably because there were like no people in D.C. that weekend.)

Here is a picture of the view from my hotel window:



----

The next day, I decided to go to another museum because the first museum was so awesome I figured I would really like to go to another museum. And boy, was I right! There were even more things to play with and learn and see at this museum! Let's play the game that's called: Guess the Name of the Museum I Went to Because I Wouldn't Want to Offend Anyone Who Believes that the World Was Created Only a Few Thousand Years Ago by Mentioning the Name of this Museum.

This museum had things like

An elephant:



The insides of a turtle:



And lots of fun facts:



I learned lots of other things like:
  • The clavicle is the last bone to finish developing--and doesn't stop in women until the age of 25!
  • I have really bad circulation


Actually, I already knew that last one, but it was proven because I saw myself in infared light and my hands were the same color as my nose (blue), and everybody else's hands were the same color as their torso (red).

Guess you couldn't say I was caught "red handed"...


Then I decided I was tired again because I had been riding everywhere on this stolen bicycle so I thought, gee, I wish there was something I could do where I could just sit and relax, so I went outside and I saw this:


But in front of that, there just so happened to be a parade and so I watched the parade.

Then I went back to NYC where, on my way home, some drag queens made me very happy by singing to me on the subway.






Sunday, February 26, 2012

Crazy Weekends

As a kid, it seemed like I always had thousands of activities on weekend mornings. Saturdays and Sundays were home to my gymnastic classes, dance classes, theatre rehearsals, or if I didn't have a real activity, tagging along to take my sisters to one of their weekend morning activities.

I grew increasingly jealous of those kids who got to stay at home and watch Saturday morning cartoons. I didn't know any of these kids of course, since the kids I knew were the ones at Saturday morning activities with me, but I was sure that some of them must exist somewhere. I figured that in order for Saturday Morning Cartoons to exist, there must be Saturday Morning Kids to watch them. And I wanted so badly to be one of them.

I complained. I begged. I dragged my feet out of the house. Why did I have to wake up and get dressed and go some place where there were kids (somewhere) who (allegedly) got to stay home and watch TV?

Well, finally, after years and years of hoping and wishing, my dream came true; I realized my life's goal of having weekend after weekend with Nothing To Do. I could sleep all day. I could eat nothing but plain Greek yogurt. Or I could stare at the wall.

Oh. The. Joy.

I didn't realize until recently what I had become. What's the right word for it? Hmm... Lazy? That might be the right word, but I'm too lazy to look up "lazy" in the thesaurus to find some synonyms to describe myself, so I guess we'll just stick with "lazy".

Once I accomplished my life's goal, I wondered why I didn't feel more, well, accomplished. Why didn't I feel like I'd done something great, something grand? Something that everyone and their mother (as if "everyone" didn't include mothers) would be jealous of?

I started to question my judgement. If my original life's goal was so off, maybe I just needed a new goal! So it was at that moment that I decided the best option would be to eat some plain Greek yogurt and stare at the wall. But after I did that, I wondered what other people did with their weekends, and I made a list to prove it.

Type 1: The Lower Manhattan-er:
These people work 100 hours a week, so some of that is on the weekend. Or maybe they're just banging secretaries.
*Note to self: look more into this type of work.

Type 2: People whose jobs happen to be on the weekends, who don't work 100 hours a week:
What a horrible way to spend your weekend if your job isn't even making you enough money to afford a butler. I mean, come on...

Type 3: People with jobs who have weekends off:
Somehow, they suddenly become crazypeople who do This activity and That activity with This person and That person (who they don't even seem to like very much). Then they spend the night getting completely hammered so that they they can go to work on Monday feeling "awesome" and "accomplished" and "psyched" (ie hungover, tired, and I-need-coffee-or-I'm-going-to-die-right-now-like).


Type 4: People with kids:
Yeah, like I'm even going to consider this one.

Type 5: Hippies:
Drugs.


Type 6: Hipsters:
Kale.

Type 7: People in relationships:
Each other.

Type 7: Jackie Chan:
Like saving the world and doing random flips and punching things and being generally fucking awesome.

I decided the best course of action would be to become Jackie Chan. Unfortunately, I didn't seem to be able to get this one to work no matter how many fortune cookies I stole (I blame you, Lindsay Lohan) (yes, that was a Freaky Friday reference) (yes, it is really disappointing when you see Chinese writing on a building and you think it's a restaurant, but it's actually a Chinese food supply store where you can't buy sesame chicken, but you can buy 50 sets of Chinese china made in China, lucky you).

I'm officially out of ideas.