The Fat, Skinny, Strong, Curvy... Truth

Hello all! I hope you are all having weeks that are more fabulous than the thought of a reenactment of Pride and Prejudice performed by snakes in top hats.

Well, it's fair to say that graduate school is not for the faint of heart. I am about a month and a half in and about ready to start gnawing on the corners of books.

Yes, I'm aware that just makes me sound like I'm turning into one of my cats, which you all probably feared already, but I swear there are no kitty transformations occurring.

This week I was walking through the parking lot to my car after buying groceries. Okay, honest confession, I was doing the "lug all of your groceries on your arms without hitting your legs with them because you're too proud to use the shopping cart" waddle, but that is neither here nor there.

 As I toiled under the unforgiving Arizona sun towards my car I happened to read a bumper sticker in the back of a Toyota that read, "Fit is Beautiful"  and advertised some local gym.

The car parked directly next to it had a hot pink bumper sticker that read, "Big girls are the sexiest!"

I would have taken a picture, but that would have required untangling myself from several grocery bags and then re-hefting them in the 109 degree heat.

Instead as I trudged back to my car a thought hit me, "Why did I move to a place where the pavement could actually melt my shoes!?"

After that thought came, "I wonder to whose advantage it is to have a body type beauty war?"

Sure, the media benefit when they cast skinny models as the "hot girls" in one film and then have "feel good" films where the heavier girl gets her man. Makeup companies make a killing off of making women compare with each other. Gyms exploit the comparison for memberships...

The long list of those who benefit from women comparing themselves to each other is mind boggling long.

You know who doesn't benefit, though? WOMEN

We as a sex and a gender don't benefit, not one little bumper sticker's worth of an iota, from constantly having to claim that our particular body type is somehow more "beautiful" or more "sexy" than the next girl's body type!

 The comparison of "who is more beautiful" based simply on our skin-sack full of organs, bones and other random tissues and juices (which is essentially what we all are) is a false one, and it's one that we continue to perpetuate to our own disadvantage.

So, are skinny women beautiful? YES

Are curvy women beautiful? YES

Are tall women beautiful? YES

What about <insert random descriptor here>? YES

All women are beautiful, and until we stop competing with each other for the imaginary body-type, beauty queen crown, then we will continue to waste our time and our energy dividing over something useless instead of directing our time and effort towards something actually productive.

You are beautiful, whether you are tall, short, thin, fat, purple (though, if you're purple, you might want to get that checked), trans, straight haired, or built like She-Hulk!

Now it's time, as women, that we all start acting like the beautiful bitches we are.

If you want to know where you can find more of this beautiful woman, come find me on Facebook and Twitter and my books can be found here!

DMV - Demotivating Mandatory Victimization

Hello all, I hope you have all had weeks that were more fantastic than the thought of steampunk rap (which actually exists).

I'm sorry this post is late! Grad student life has me in its clutches and doesn't want to let go! Despite being buried in countless pages of reading and long papers, I do have this little adventure for all of you.

I have officially decided that the DMV is where dreams go to be crushed like a Hotwheels car under the foot of the Terminator. Florescent lights, long lines, chairs of questionable origin, the DMV is what I imagine dying and getting stuck in Limbo is probably like.

One thing that I've noticed is that every DMV in every county and every state has one thing in common; they all have at least one person waiting with you that will make you contemplate whether you actually need to drive or not. 

In varying DMV lines I've faced the man of incredible flatulence, the woman who brought not one, not two, but three yapping dogs and the guy who kept going outside to make sure his car hadn't caught fire, "I fixed it, but I ain't sure I fixed it right..."

The individual who takes the DMV gold straightjacket, though, graced those waiting with her presence at my most recent visit. The waiting room was crowded that day, twenty to thirty people were crammed in the narrow waiting area like that box of Crayola crayons that Jimmy decided to try and get one extra crayon into. Stupid Jimmy.

I had been sitting on a bench next to another lady who shared my "does not want to be here" expression for about three minutes when she walked in. Well, technically she more pushed her way through the door ramming into an elderly gentleman who was about to take a number so she could grab a number first.

With bits of her oozing from underneath a shirt that was a size or four too small, she wandered up to the bench. Guessing that she wanted to take a seat, I began to scoot over as did the girl next to me in the opposite direction. I only had a chance to scooch myself about a centimeter though before the woman said, "Well, it would be NICE if someone were willing to move over for me instead of just sitting there like dumb cows!"

The other girl and I looked at each other, I rolled my eyes and we continued our journey to make room for our vulgar new bench mate. When we had scooted far enough for her largess, which meant I was nearly sitting in the next person's lap, she thudded herself down and said, "SeeEee? That wasn't so hard now was it?"

Everyone on the long bench looked at her with a similar expression of confusion and disgust as she then scratched her armpit, very close to the other girl's face, and burped.

At this point I went back to counting how many dots were in the ceiling tiles and waiting for my number to be called. The woman next to me let out a series of exasperated sighs and kept saying things like, "I don't understand why this is taking so long!" as if she expected anyone to answer her.

After a couple of minutes, she suddenly started digging around in her purse, a monstrous Nascar Racing decorated affair with a giant Confederate flag pin on it. After elbowing me several times in her frantic search for whatever she was hunting for, she let out a triumphant little grunt and pulled out a toothbrush and toothpaste.

I then watched in horror as she put the toothpaste on the toothbrush, and with great angsty energy, shoved the toothbrush in her mouth. Now she hadn't just caught the attention of the others clustered on the bench, but a majority of those trapped in the lobby as well as the DMV employees. Everyone sat in abject horror for a second as she brushed and slurped her way along, obviously swallowing the toothpaste as she went.

After a few shocked seconds I decided that I did not want my front row seat to the 'Dental Hygiene Show' and got up to go lean against a wall as far away as possible. As I made my retreat the woman gurgled out, "Whore!" behind me.

Funny, she was number 47, but it seems while I was filling out my paperwork, the DMV counter attendants somehow managed to go from 46 directly on to 48. Whoopsie-doodle!

So what lessons from this can be printed on our experience registrations?

1. Peoples' definitions of the word "whore" seem to be vastly different. I always thought it was a derogatory term for someone who likes to sleep with a lot of people. Apparently I'm wrong, it is a term for someone who doesn't wish to be a up-close-and-personal participant in someone else's dental care.

2. You can in fact be so awful that not even DMV employees will want to talk to you. 

For more fun adventures don't forget to check out my stuff on Facebook and Twitter (@AllisonHawn) and check out my books here!