I'd never heard of Heidi Montag until her 10 surgeries in one day; nor had I heard of an 18-year old who didn't feel "fresh enough" on screen (Glee) without some Botox and tightening. Her rep said the Botox was for jaw pain. Yeah, the oxycodeine I pop like Nerds is because I've got a recurring cold. Nora Ephron waited until she was 60 to write how she felt bad about her neck. I know how she feels -- I hole up in the house during turkey season, nursing my colds.
I have complex feelings when I read things like this: "the horror of it all", "vain ninnies" "brainless vain ninnies" and "gullible dim-witted ninnies." Then I think of the type of writing I've seen a million times:
"She was a long-legged drink of cool water, with a mane of hair I fantasized sweeping over my chest as we made passionate love. I felt dizzy when I looked into her violet eyes -- they were as deep as the ocean where people can't go -- you have to send those submersibles, and even then their windshields sometimes crack. Her voice was like that Bach melody I like -- I was kind of surprised the guy wrote music like that because I always associated him with those depressing fugues. But I heard this one song and thought -- wow -- the guy can rock. I still can't believe a 40-year old chick could be so hot."
Sour grapes might come into the scenario -- if a good friend drugged me and took me in to get nipped and tucked and paid the surgeon and for my recovery on her private island, I would not complain. I could continue to say that the lines on my face give me character and that my butt might be drooping but I'm just grateful not to have rectal cancer -- I count my blessings instead of my flaws! I'm deep, not shallow like Heidi.
(My youngest daughter is forever telling me that I should use emoticons because people tend to take me literally. For the record, I am a woman of a certain age and a certain size and do not consider myself a bloated corpse-like figure, nor do I see other women in this light.)
Several of us wrote scathing letters to the editor; some were published. We didn't find the article itself totally offensive, but the the headline was rude, tasteless and hateful. We also wrote letters to the features editor, who approved the article and wrote the headline. I was sure that she would offer a mea culpa (who doesn't like Latin phrases?) I didn't expect her to admit that maybe she'd been drunk or stoned -- just that she had made a serious error in judgement -- for one thing, the odious headline didn't even have a verb!!!!!! She stood by her headline; she probably thought it brave and provocative. I don't know her, but I know that she's married to another writer for the paper who can best be described as a pompous ass. It would take him 12 paragraphs to write this one, and he would use lots of references to obscure foreign movies -- excuse me -- films, and would somehow work in his close personal, individual, private, special friendship with Bobby Duvall. But I digress, as usual.
Back to bitching. Remember the Diary of Bridget Jones -- wasn't the weight at which she was considered a huge cow something like 130? And I found this about Christina Hendricks, who plays Joan on Mad Men:
Christina Hendricks has never publicly stated her weight, but that is definitely not going to let us stop from speculating on it. We think she weighs approximately 70 kilograms which is 154 pounds. We’ve spent literally hundreds of hours pouring over photos and videos of Christina Hendricks to come up with this figure. If you want the low down on Christina Hendricks (sic) other measurements be sure to check out the following pages: What are Christina Hendricks Measurements? What dress size is Christina Hendricks?
(The last two sentences had links for research purposes.)
Really? Someone pores over pictures of her just figure out her weight? That's pathetic, like visiting Notre-Dame Cathedral because you thought you might see some football players. Boy, did you feel stupid when you got there and saw only a lonely hunchback hawking Disney watches!
Our pouts aren't poufy enough, our choppers not bright enough, our hair not thick or glossy enough; our boobs are too large or too small (ditto our derrières) -- how do we even find the courage to leave our houses?
Dedicated to Stephanie Young, Yoga Goddess, and all the other gorgeous women I know.