The Beauty Punch

Homemade peach cobbler courtesy of friends & neighbours makes me feel guilty. Scarfing down said cobbler while watchting girls get trashed on the Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency because of all too “real” waistlines ought to be in the Major Leagues of guilt, especially since I used to have the rail-thin model body that catty gay bookers in designer scarves so admired. But hey, now that I hover between a 4 and a 6, and am practically Jabba the Hut by fashion standards, I’ve become a hit with Mexican construction workers and grocery cashiers (it’s weight and class, baby, weight and class), and being fawned over solely by beautiful gay men is a bit self-defeating, really.

Speaking of girls and image, d’you really think we’d all be yapping about JonBenet Ramsey a decade later if it weren’t for her golden looks and locks? No offense to the poor girl, but the media’s pornographic fascination with her and her family scared me even back when I was a twelve-year old who could barely spell “pedophilia.”

Oh, and while we’re at it, the Annotated Lolita is going very well, thanks for asking. All those puns are falling right into place. It’s not quite a beach-read, as I discovered when I took it to Falls Lake today, but at least it makes me look respectable. Or does it?

Coming up tomorrow:

Do you know those takes on discrimination such as “Driving While Black” and “Flying While Muslim”? How about “Spouting Feminist Rhetoric While Carrying a Duke Diploma”?

Hm. It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. But I am planning a rant nonetheless.

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