Thursday, August 30, 2007

Reality Check

I was just thinking the other day how great it would be if we could see pictures of real people at real weights so we could put our whole, "I need to be 125 pounds" craziness in perspective. And then good old Elastic Waist posts a link to this height/weight photo thingy. Thank goodness this already exists because I needed another project like a need a hole in the head. Also, I wasn't looking forward to getting my lights punched out for asking people for their stats and a picture.

For the record, I'm 5'2" 135 pounds. I think it's kind of fabulous that my corresponding photo is a bellydancing lady who could possibly also be a drag queen. I love belly dancing. I love drag queens! I also like that after 5'4", no one is shown under 100 pounds. Because those people need help, not encouragement.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Rub a dub dub, I'll read in my tub

The world would be a better place if someone would work out the technology so that I could read in the shower.

My morning routine starts with reading on the commode and there are some (most) days I just want to keep reading. But since every minute sitting means another less to spend frantically running around getting ready (not to mention that my feet start going numb) it would be nice if I could multitask by conditioning and finishing a chapter. The shampoo companies should be the ones to invent the technology because they'd be direct beneficiaries - I'd lather, rinse and repeat my way to purchasing a whole heck of a lot more product just to stay in there longer.

We have iPods, eBooks, and nano-whoodeydoodies. There has to be something out there already (and don't think I didn't Google to see if there is), or someone intrepid enough to try to circumvent the problems inherent in bringing things that get soggy into a moist environment. Yes, I'm talking to you Vidal Sassoon. Get on it wouldja?

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Bloggy Stuff/Pointless Post

Although I would like to look like a Disney Princess (Belle to be specific) I do not have eyes three times larger than is physically possible. Hence, I changed my avatar over there on the sidebar. (Aside: People don't use the word "hence" enough. I suggest you smatter your conversations with it today. Along with "heretofore", "forthwith," and "effervescent.") I, as an avatar, was looking decidedly awake, demure, and, let's face it, like every anime porn character ever. (Welcome internet pervs) Now, I at least have regular size eyes (if not waist, clavicles, boobs and ass). I kind of look squinty actually but what can you do?

Speaking of boobs and ass - here are some terms web surfers used to find their way to me. As far as I can tell, these googled terms were heretofore unutilized to find me (See how I did that? I used one of my words. Poorly, yes, but I used it.)

  • "Airbrushed pants for girls", "tushy girl shit", "big girl [insert body part or sex act here]", and my personal favorite, "big round boobies covered in chocolate".
Since I have nothing real to tell you at the moment, you must check out this eBay item. Or not the item really, but the description.

Monday, August 27, 2007

At my niece's peewee soccer game

My Father (in an obnoxious sports spectator voice) - Pick up the ball kid! What's wrong with him? Doesn't the goalie know he can pick up the ball?


Other spectator (calmly but deadly) - Yes. He knows. That's my son.


***Moments later***


My Father - "C'mon kids! Spread out. Spread out! You've got to cover the other team! What are you doing? It's three on one!

Me - Dad! They're four! They can't do math. They can't even tie their own shoes yet! Did you not notice they didn't even know there was a second net?


My Father - [more yelling at four - six year olds about things he needs to chill about]


Me - Oh my god Dad! I am so glad I didn't play sports as a kid.


My Father - Why?


Me - You! You're That Guy Dad. The guy that gives soccer parents a bad name.



I don't think my chastizing did much but I felt better for calling him on it. What you have to know about my father is that he neither plays nor even watches sports. He is not an armchair warrior. But, somehow, when he is at an amateur sporting event with very few spectators to hide amongst, he turns into a sideline monster. He did the same thing when I brought him to one of my softball games. He was one of about 3 spectators and spent the whole game yelling at my team. I didn't invite him back.



Update: Blogger now lets you upload your own videos! Perfect timing. Now you can hear me tell my Dad to stuff it. Or at least try to difuse the situation. You can't hear him but he's grumbling about the goalie. FYI - My niece is the one with the great kick at the end. Of course, it's to the wrong goal but whatever. She rocks.

Friday, August 24, 2007

The Power of Three

A slight digression until I get to the point which is probably just as pointless as the digression:

The title of this post could indicate I watch too much Charmed. This is most likely true considering that one episode may be too much. It is always on the TV at my gym but even though I've seen various pieces and parts of a bazillion episodes I still don't know 1) the big picture (is there one? i.e. what is the subplot that threads it's way through all the episodes? I mean, just what the hell is The Source? Why do all the demons want to kill them? How is it possible that their boobs don't pop out of their skimpy outfits while they are fighting creatures from the underworld?) and 2) what any of their voices sound like. The show is somewhat inspiring (and, yes, also annoying) in that there are three women about my age with gorgeous bodies who kick ass AND take names. They've got a whole book full of them. (Shit. I just IMDBed Alyssa Milano and she's four years OLDER than I am. Sigh...) Their physique and physicality make you crank up the treadmill just a little. I say to myself, "Self, if only you worked out just a little harder, you too could be kicking back after a hard day vanquishing evil dressed in leather hot pants and a top from here

End digression.

The power of three I'm talking about is how things come in threes - deaths, celebutant DUIs, etc... Earlier in the year there was a threesome of pregnancies, none, luckily, involving me directly. My sister, her best friend from childhood (who might as well be my little sister too), and my X are all pregnant and due in September, October, and November respectively. Egads.

The second set of threes in my life is evictions.
First, it was my brother:
"Yeah, so, I've been living in an illegal apartment. My landlord applied for a permit to build a second egress, thus, potentially making it a legal dwelling. This, coupled with the really bad tenants who moved onto the first floor and have caused several neigbors to complain (no one is sure how many people actually live in that apartment. They moved in at 2 in the morning.) brought the landlord to the attention of the city. Yadda, yadda, we have to move out."

Next it was Dr. C and his lovely wife K, the lawyer:"Our landlord, the guy who rented us the apartment in the retirement home even though we aren't even 30, is selling the condo and we need to move out. It sucks ass [even doctors and lawyers use bad words] because its a sweet place - humongous, half way between where we work, and the neighbors are really quiet. Obviously. Their average age is 75 and most of them spent the winter in Florida. I know that Bridge players can get pretty rowdy at times but it's not like they're throwing parties until 2am." I don't quite know how they managed to rent it, something about the places being individually owned and the owners having some sort of discretion, but they have to leave before it is sold.

Lastly, we have Friendster Guy. Our third and hopefully final eviction. He too is in a condo being sold. Luckily, he was already in the process of looking for a house of his own so this just kicked it up a notch. As he said, "I was already on the road, I just had to switch lanes." Unfortunately, house hunting has not gone as nicely as he would like. For one, this area is expensive. You have to keep expanding the distance away from the center of town (cluster of towns) where we work before you can find something affordable. And then you have to take into account the commute/gas and the potential for snow and such. It's all well and good to buy a beautiful house but if it takes you an hour to get to work in order to pay for it, it's not worth it. For another, buying a house requires talking to people. FG is not a big fan of in-person or telephone conversations. Note to any realtors and bankers out there: You will open your market tremendously if you are able to interact with a client solely through the web, email and text messaging. FG was ahead of the curve computer nerd-wise but he's not alone in this foible. Everyone coming down the pike is going to expect anonymous interactions that get the job done.

As for the power of three? I just hope it's done for the moment and not looking for another situation to triplicate. I'm already in 2 wedding parties next year. I don't need another one.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives.

Someday, I'm going to be walking down the street and see a man coming toward me. I'll recognize him in a generic, "Now where do I know him from?" kind of way. We'll smile politely and perhaps wave and be on our own merry ways. I'll ponder for a few more instances where in the world I know him from, walk a couple of steps, stop dead in my tracks, and say, "Holy fuck! I used to be married to that guy."

That's about how much I ever think about my X. The fact that he was part of my life for 10+ years, and impressionable ones at that (age 18-28), doesn't even register. He might as well be a guy I just shared a couple of classes with - not a life, condo, and, well, genitalia.

Thank Blog, I'm over him. (And under someone else (hee hee)).

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Vegemite and Kangaroos at 4.5% APR


I did it. I took the first step toward my trip to Australia by I opening an ING savings account. It's only 4.5% APR versus 5.05% at HSBC but I got a $25 signing bonus and $10 for Friendster Guy for his referral so everybody wins. Plus, 1.05% of the $1,000 I started it with is only $10 anyway (I'm not counting compound interest - that's too hard to calculate and I don't even know where to start) so really, in the 19 months before I plan to venture forth, I'll probably come out ahead this way. I even took the next, slightly panic inducing, step of having $200 automatically withdrawn monthly from my checking into this new savings account (only after reassuring myself that if I get into dire straits - i.e. selling platelets or other body organs - I can transfer stuff around).

I do feel a little bit of a dilemma in that my $11,500 student loans are sitting around at 4.8%. That's not bad in and of itself but it means that technically (in my mind anyway - I am not and will never be a CPA), for every dollar I save and do not pay to them, I'm losing .3%. Considering right now I'm losing the whole 4.8% I suppose I'm actually doing better with this new account. I think that the presence of student loans balances out slightly in tax benefits and increased credit score. At least that's what I'm going to tell myself. Plus, the psychological bonus of knowing I'm going on a trip doesn't hurt. The student loans will go away when they go away. And will that be a happy day or what? I'll have to plan a celebratory trip : )


Monday, August 20, 2007

Going walkabout

I need to save $4,000-5,000.

This is how much cash I want to have available for a 2-3 week trip to visit friends in Australia in April, 2009. If my calculations are correct (it's Monday so there are no guarantees), starting when I next get paid, I need to save $210-263/month for the next 19 months. Crikey! Can I do it? Eh...maybe? Will I have to eat Ramen noodles two meals a day every day? Most likely. Will I have to forgo such luxuries as coin operated laundry facilities and seasonal soft serve ice cream windows? Probably. I suppose I'll be too busy cleaning my clothes against a rock in a stream to even think about dairy confections anyway.

The reason for this out of the blue savings frenzy is a visit over the weekend from said friends from Australia. Long story, short(ish): In 2003, I took a trip to Spain, Portugal, and Morocco with a tour group. I was the only person I knew. Luckily for me, there were a large number of Australians traveling with the tour who adopted me as one of their own and great fun was had by all. Australians, if you don't know this, are amazing travelers. Partly due to the number of vacation days they get, partly due to the fact that if they want to go anywhere else but Australia they have to travel vast distances so they better make the most of it, and mostly because they have such open, boisterous, interested personalities. Who doesn't love Australians? Whenever we went anywhere and they'd answer, "Australian," to the locals' question of, "where are you from?," the questioners would beam and smile and pat them on the back. I'd mumble, "United States," apologetically and hope not to get spit on. (For the record, I wasn't, and everyone was perfectly pleasant.)

Anyway, I have kept in touch with one couple I met and have consistently told them that anytime they are in the States they were welcome to stay with me. They finally took me up on it this weekend and we had a wonderful time visiting and touring my area. Half of the time they spent convincing me I must go to Australia and stay with them. As if I needed convincing. I mean really? Free accommodations in Australia? Near the beach. With koalas and parrots in the tree in their yard like squirrels. How much convincing do you think I needed? Not bloody much.

So there you have it. I need money for flights, rental cars, food, any extra accommodations, and peace of mind. I'd have a kangaroo loose in the top paddock if I let this opportunity go by. I already missed out on trips to visit friends in China and Kenya so I'm not going to let Australia slip away. Down Under here I come! And, oh yes, Friendster Guy is invited as well.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Aisle Ten: Rugrats, Ankle Biters, Vibrating Panties?

I'm not gonna lie, the grocery store where I often shop borders on pretentious. If it didn't have a good healthy dose of actual earthy crunchy, as in "I make my own yogurt and hummus," and not the fake, "I buy organic and bring my own bags," earthy crunchy, it would bypass that border and enter magniloquent and vainglorious (aren't those great words? I had to use thesaurus.com AND dictionary.com to find them.) It's a co-op, but as they say so magnanimously themselves, "anyone can shop there." I've been going for years because it's convenient - i.e. on the way home. The other "normal" big box grocery stores are 5-10 miles away in directions I don't go and in generally trafficky, Walmart-laden, locales. It's not worth the hassle unless I'm also making a run out for other stuff - like "the border" (Yo quiero Taco Bell! Or at least Panera.)

This store is the kind of place where you aren't sure they accept coupons. In the 7 years I've been going there, no one in line in front of me has used any so I still don't know if they take them. It's also a place to shop with grown-ups. It isn't often that you see a child wandering the aisles. The store does provide mini carts for kids because, instead of the screaming beasties you need to tie up, they assume children will be well behaved. Or that at least the parents will rein them in if not.


Yesterday, however, as soon as I entered the store I knew something was off. The first sound I heard was a child caterwauling (another great word!) at the top of his lungs and instead of the usual, "Now, [insert upper middle class name here- Madison, Blake, whatever], you know that is not the way we behave in public, blah, blah, manners, blah, blah, Abercrombie and Fitch, blah blah" that is the norm in this store, the mother, with an infant propped on her hip as well as the screaming 4 years old, was shouting just as loudly back.

I'll readily admit that if I was grocery shopping with one or both of those kids, even on their best behavior, I would totally lose my shit sooner than you can say "Clean up on aisle 4." I am not a patient person when it comes to chaos, hence I have not procreated and don't intend to. So, I'm not faulting the mother. At least I wasn't until I saw what the child proceded to do once his fit ended in him getting his way and driving the mini grocery cart.
I found myself in an aisle with the family and an older man, probably in his 70s. I was heading away from the ruckus and he, with obvious trepidation, was heading toward them. When we were at opposite ends of the aisle, I heard the child running with the mini cart behind me and looked back in time to see him pull a U-turn, run back toward his mom, and run the cart right into the man's calves yelling "Gotcha!" with obvious glee. His mom didn't see it and the man never said anything. Except for being super vigilant against sneak attacks for the rest of my shopping excursion, I did nothing either. And so it goes. Hyperpoliteness is also a trait of this co-op. You never know who you might run into and discover they are your boss/neighbor/doctor whatever.

I don't know what I would have done if I'd seen the following happen either (hope you can read it - you may have to click on it and open it larger.)

Now those are some sassy pants. Have a great weekend!

100,000 Pyramid

Droll, dull, mind numbing, boring, stale, humdrum, insipid, tiresome, tedious, stagnant, vapid, uninspired, drab, dreary, lackluster, banal, unstimulating, blah.

Words that describe my job!

Words that describe my blog!

Either way, you win.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Enter Sandman

Last night, I had a dream that I was at a meet and greet for the democratic presidential candidates. The only one I recognized was Barak Obama so it wasn't exactly the most realistic of dreams (then again, I probably wouldn't recognize most of them if I hit them and their secret service detail with my car so whatever). Anyway, in the dream, someone decided it would be a good idea to bring a dog to the event. It got loose. Being the good citizen that I am, I tried to grab it. In the process I fell, doing a somersault right in front of Senator Obama. I kid you not, the first thing I thought, while still in the dream, ass over tea kettle, was how I would totally have to blog about how I tripped and did a flip in front of Barak and how great a post that would be.

I woke up this morning scratching my head, thinking, "there was something I had to blog about. What was it?"

That's right. I dreamt about blogging. I may need to take a vacation.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Something's fishy. News at 11.

It is on days like these, when the weather surprises me by being a tit bit more nipply than I expected in the morning, that I think, "Gosh, perhaps I should watch the News and find out what's going on in the world. At least I'd know I should bring a jacket."

Then I realize how much happier I am not to know. Because really, unless I need to evacuate tout sweet, shouldn't be drinking the water from my tap, a killer is stalking my neighborhood right this instant, or I want to kick ass at Trivial Pursuit 15 years from now, I don't need to know. At least I don't need to know what passes for "News" anymore - celebutants in and out of rehab, politicians lying and retiring, the next crazy disease that is going to wipe us out.

I watched an "episode" of the News the other week and all it was was fear mongering. Every scene was them screaming, with graphics and scrolling information, "Here is what you NEED TO BE AFRAID OF! We're not kidding. Really! Be afraid. Be very afraid! There are fish, FISH, that jump out of the water and can HURT YOU*! See, see this cute little blonde girl? She was cut by the FISH! All because she went out with her family on what seemed to be a normal day. Just like you are living right now. Until...shewascutbyajumping FISH! It could happen to you. Keep watching or you won't know what's gonna getcha. Scared yet? Oogabooga. And now a word from our sponsors - Fishbegone Pepper Spray"

I think I'll just check the weather on-line.

*You can't make this stuff up if you tried.

Monday, August 13, 2007

Single Step

It's Monday, and you know what that means.

That's right. It means I'm sitting here catching up on the blog reading I neglected over the weekend.

I'm honestly trying to get up some sort of motivation to attack something, anything, at work but so far to very little avail. None of the projects on my desk are appealing and I'm afraid to start touching what is hiding within my desk because it will lead to more projects I will continue to ignore.

I know I just need to start something. The journey of 1000 miles blah, blah, blah. Sigh...

I'll give myself 1 hour to accomplish something. I'll report back. There. Motivated by guilt. It's better than nothing. Wish me luck.

[Update - It is now a few hours later and I have managed to take the steps necessary to complete the tasks and purge an entire file that has been in my drawer since May. Go me! On to the next one.]

Sunday, August 12, 2007

My secret?

I look forward to Sundays so I can go to Post Secret.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Love, Like, Dislike, Loathe: Music Edition

Love - That we're in a new era of movie musicals - Moulin Rouge, Dreamgirls, Hairspray (Go see it. Bring comfy shoes because you will be tapping your feet.) I love musicals but used to think I was born in the wrong era since all I could watch were old ones on video. Now I can see them first run in theaters. Yeah!

Like - Avril Lavigne's new songs. I can't help rocking out to Girlfriend and singing along to When You're Gone. I just checked out the video and it's a weepfest. Lonely old men looking at pictures of their deceased wives get me everytime. *Sniffle* And speaking of crying...


Dislike - Fergie's song Big Girls Don't Cry. The song's ok, the sentiment (I gotta get my shit together without you) is fine. But if she was actually a "big girl", she'd know we cry a lot. If we didn't, we'd explode and take out anyone within a 10 foot radius. I also dislike the lyric, "I'm gonna miss you like a child misses their blanket." Something about it makes me cringe. "Blanket" just isn't very lyrical. Blanket. Blanket. Blanket. Ick.

Loathe - When singers talk during songs instead of singing. You know the songs, where the guy is all of a sudden, "Baby. You know I love you. I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry you caught me cheating on you. I'm not sorry I cheated, I'm just sorry you caught me." Unless it's Barry White. He gets a pass.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Thriller in Manilla

This video takes place at a "detention and rehabilitation center" in the Philippines, i.e. prison. Can you imagine anything like this being possible in the U.S.? I'm not sure if I'm amazed and think it's fabulous, or horrified. There are almost no words.

Christmas in July

Holidays in my family tend to be spread out over a period of months. What with parents, siblings, step-parents and, in the past, in-laws and step-in-laws, it was hard to get everyone together in a room to celebrate. I've exchanged Christmas presents into February and March. In fact, at my sister's baby shower a couple weeks ago, my step-brother's wife exclaimed, "Shoot! I forgot to bring your Christmas present!"

My birthday is turning into a long term celebration. So far my grandmother and father have figured out the beauty that is mailing a check. Instant, appreciated, flexible. I plan to buy myself a heart rate monitor. It's something I haven't purchased for myself because it's not within my price range for unnecessary purchases/luxuries. Do I really need one? No. Have I wanted one? Yes. Am I an odd duck for wanting a heart rate monitor and for possibly purchasing one with my birthday money? Perhaps. Anybody know a good brand?

My mother and I exchanged gifts this weekend. I gave her a Baggallini because she almost stole the one Friendster Guy's parents gave me for graduation. It's a very cool bag/purse. I brought it with me on vacation and it held everything I needed including my cell phone and sunglasses.

My mom got me the jewelry organizer I asked for. I know, I'm weird. But again, it's something I wanted but didn't need to invest in with a birthday coming up. This one is great. Two sided, canvas, very sturdy. I can actually see my jewelry. Of course, I can also see how much of it I don't wear, and how much is ugly. But at least I can see it.

She also got me a Harry Potter watch. Kind of like this one only mine's brown and gold and has Hogwarts on the flip side. I suppose this was the frivolous birthday gift, neither asked for nor expected. I don't know how often I'll wear it, although it is actually quite nice looking for a merchandising item. At least I have the jewelry holder to put it in.

Finally, my mom got creative. There is a dessert she makes called Denver Pudding which I love, love, love. It's along the lines of a molten chocolate cake. Part is cakey, part is puddingy. Mmmm, I just drooled a little on the keyboard. For some reason, I've asked for and received the recipe from her a bagillion times and then I lose it. I asked for it again when she started posting recipes on her blog. (I'm not linking because I don't want my family to know this blog exists. I'm paranoid she'll be able to link back. I may "come out" in the future, so to speak, but only after I archive everything and then erase the archive for public consumption.) For my birthday, she tea stained some paper, printed the recipe in a script font, ripped the edges to make it look even older, and then framed it. Now I can't lose it because it will be hanging on a wall or sitting on a shelf.

Honestly, I don't care if I get any presents or not. I've been in purge mode so I don't feel the need to collect more stuff. To me, it really is the thought that counts. I would have been happy with just the recipe. For the record, she says it comes from the Fanny Farmer cookbook she purchased in 1972. If she posts it on her blog I'll cut and paste it for you.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

On posting and posture

I think I have blogger's block. I keep coming up with all sorts of little possible topics but I start to compose a post in my head and it goes nowhere. Granted, most blog posts tend to be rather pointless and asinine, and mine are certainly no exception, but there is a line between amusing quips and stupid ramblings that I try not to cross overmuch.

For instance, I was going to talk about Sarah Jessica Parker admitting that her heel wearing during Sex and the City messed up her knees. Then I was going to babble on about how about 2 years ago I stopped wearing heels and started wearing flats to keep my hips and spine aligned. But, except for saying something about how I'm 5'2" and Friendster Guy is 6'2" and I picked a strange time to stop wearing shoes that give me height (if for no other reason than less neck cramps during upright makeout sessions) that was all I could think of to blog about. And that ain't much. Although, it did give me a reason to think about smooching. And if I add some chocolate to my daydream all is good in the world.

I'm going to go stare out the window now. Carry on.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Full of grace...or something.

I have no words.

Not in an "I'm so horrified/disgusted I can't even speak" kind of way, but in a "hmmm...what the heck should I blog about?" way.

I got nothin'.

I'm probably drained from spending the weekend with my mother. It was her birthday Saturday. I was (and always shall be) her early birthday present. The only reason I wasn't born on her birthday was because her doctor only did C-sections on Tuesdays. I suppose I should be glad, according to Mother Goose, Wednesday's child sounds like a downer.

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay.


Oh, the irony of a Sunday's child.

Friday, August 03, 2007

31 in the hizouse! Word! *

Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday to me!
Happy Birthday to MEEE!
Happy Birthday to me!

Today, I am officially "in" my 30s. I suppose you could argue (and Friendster Guy would) that I've been in my 30s since turning 30 last year but I disagree. 31 is infinitely different from 30. It doesn't hold quite the same transitional mystique, and it's certainly much harder to find a Happy 31st Birthday card. I personally wasn't afraid of 30. I got all the drama out in my 20s (marriage/divorce) so I had nothing to be afraid of. 31 is kind of a let down really. It's not exactly special.

But I am. Today, I am fabulous. Today has already been great:

I woke up just before my alarm clock which meant I got optimum sleep time but not the rude awakening.

It's a gorgeous sunny day.

I've spontaneously decided to take the afternoon off (only a couple more hours) and I might hit a matinee.

I realized that the more candles there are on the cake, the bigger the cake!

And, to top it all off, I got to hear Pat Benatar rock out to Hit Me With Your Best Shot this morning on my commute in. As my birthday present to you, here's a little live Ms. Benatar. Rock on people of the internet!



* I may have a had a little too much caffeine this morning. I'm totally wired.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Coming soon - airbrushed ultrasounds!

You just never know when our imaged obsessed society is going to top itself (and it will top itself. Oh yes it will.) I thought the Faith Hill photo retouch was bad. But lo and behold, it gets worse.

From Salon.com:

"...it turns out that retouching is not just for the post-adolescent anymore. Thanks to Pageant Photo Retouching, you can find ways to touch up anyone, even your baby... Just for the shock factor, I encourage you to check out this example of the outfit's work. On the left, a photo of a little girl, her smile looking a little forced (one gets the sense that she is often forced to smile for the camera), but natural nonetheless. On the right? A photo of what appears to be a doll."
Here's another example of a baby who has already had the bags under her eyes removed (and caterpillars added) Because, you know, as an infant she's just not getting enough sleep fretting about whether her thighs look fat or if her formula fits within the South Beach Diet guidelines.

Grrr! It's so frustrating how women are set up for "failure" from the outset. No one can look like the ideal. Not even the ideal. See!: (you've probably seen these pics of Jamie Lee Curtis but it's worth another look)




Thanks Elastic Waist for the heads up on the child retouching. Ick. That makes it sound even more inappropriate.