You know my favorite part of the State of the Union address was A) the part where W. said that Americans were the only ones liberating concentration camps at the end of WWII, and B) the part where he said it was now required for every American to join MySpace.com as part of his “No Employee Bored At Work” program. I, for one, support this new program and look forward to W’s next, Jesus, what does he have, 14 more years in office? Wow. I’m not anti-W. I’m not pro-W. As we’ve discussed before, I am a militant moderate. I’m just to the point now that I was with Clinton toward the end of that whole young (albeit admirably chunky) intern debacle. He’s good, he’s bad, WHO CARES? Can we just move on to beating down on someone else now? I’m bored.
Now about this MySpace thing…
Sydney made me do it. And I can’t say I have been altogether unhappy with it. I’ve found some people with whom I haven’t connected in a long time and I love that. Although I wish more people from my high school would stop having babies for 5 minutes and discover the internet. They’d better get moving. It’s law now. (“Strategery!” – W.) Anyway, some people have really cool home pages on MySpace. They put in colored backgrounds and songs and graphics and whatnot. Whereas I? Can’t figure out how to post to the message board. Seriously, I can’t believe I managed to get my photo up. Bless my heart, I’m pitiful. My parents’ college dollars at work.
I’ll tell you one thing I have discovered, though. Sometimes, “people” send you an “I want to be added to your friends” notice…. “people” who have ulterior motives…
For example, some guy, we’ll call him Dillhole, wanted to be added to my list. He seemed okay. I got all excited. Yay! Someone thinks I’m cool and wants to be my friend! Whereas in real life, Dillhole is in a band, and just wanted to get everyone on MySpace on his little message list so he could advertise his suck-tastic garage band “gigs.” I eliminated Dillhole from my friend list with extreme prejudice. Spamming, ulterior-motive having bastard. That’ll teach him! Just like I teach all those telemarketers when I hang up on them! No doubt they immediately stop and examine their lives and what they’re doing before storming right into their Indian teenage manager’s office and throw their headsets in his Cheeto crumb covered lap and say, “you know what? She’s right! Ms. Algagree (my to-date favorite telemarketer variation of my name) is right! I do suck!”
What were we talking about? Oh yeah, MySpace “friends.” So now whenever “people” send me a request to be added to my friend list, I check them out thoroughly first instead of just adding them willy-nilly.
And now, MORE to the point. This morning I received a request from someone calling herself “Flaunt.” I don’t know that I have any friends who would call him/herself that, so I was suspicious. I went to the page. This person appeared to have other friends. The photo told me nothing, so I clicked on “more photos,” expecting to see pics of a person I did actually know, and who would shortly be receiving a taunting message from me about that retarded name and weird photo.
Y’all, “Flaunt” is the name of a “trendy, plus size boutique” in Nashville. A plus size… clothin… boutique.
Now.
I’m not even going to pretend that I do not shop in plus size stores. I do. I have an as-yet-unused Christmas gift card to Lane Bryant in my kitchen drawer. It’s all true. I am still a plus sized girl. But what I couldn’t figure out is how they knew to market to me. I didn’t put my weight or clothing size in my profile. I didn’t mention anywhere that I was size XL (say it with me now, “for Xtra Lovely”). How did they know to send me this? Where did they get their informa……
My photo.
These bitches looked up all the Nashville females and then looked at their photos to see if they were fat. I have a decent photograph on my page. I didn’t realize I looked all, you know, like I needed to be marketed trendy, plus sized clothes. You know, when you’re overweight, especially if you’ve been that way for at least ten years, you just kind of get used to seeing yourself. It’s not that you can’t see that you need to drop some weight, but when you see photos of yourself, or worse, on video, it’s a little startling. I guess no one sees herself the way others see her. I just finished a play called “Spoon River Anthology” and I wore this outfit that I thought was kind of flattering. But then I saw the photos from the show and said, “good lord, is that I what I look like?” But you know, a lot of people say that, even the thin ones. It’s weird. Reality vs. perception. And not just when it comes to looks. I was recently involved in a discussion about astrology and learned that your sun sign general description, what you would think of as “your sign,” (Virgo, in my case) is the way you are inside, or the way you see yourself. Your moon sign, or rising sign, (Saggitarius in my case, a trait I share with Elvis) is the way others see you, or the way you present yourself to the world. Virgo and Sagg are two very different signs. Am I really two entirely different people? Neat and anal on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside? Thin and confident on the inside, chunky and second-guessing on the out? I always thought what you see is what you get with me, except for the weight. I am more than what I weigh. Wait, that’s not… I mean I am more as a person that my weight. Not that I weigh more than I’ve been… no… forget it.
So to make a long story even longer, I am not adding Flaunt to my friend list. Not because it’s for XL girls but because I don’t wear trendy clothes. Shout out to all my libarian and kindergarten teaching homies! Word! My denim jumper, wooden jewellry, sensible shoe wearing peeps! Woop!! Woop!!
T minus I don’t know I haven’t weighed in since last week and counting.
That’s me on the right. I got me some teeth.
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