A few months ago on Oprah, Lisa Ling headed to Detroit to spend a day in a convent with a bunch of nuns. By the end of the program, I couldn’t help but ask myself if maybe Jesus really is the only nice, respectful, available man out there for us.
As I begin to approach thirty, I can’t help but reflect back on my limited dating life. In elementary school I was quite the dating pro, going from boyfriend to boyfriend – even landing myself a kiss on the cheek from my favorite kindergarten guy at my sixth birthday party. As we got to middle school, “going out” was all the rage, all resulting in never actually going anywhere. After tying up the phone for hours each night, my parents finally broke down and I got my own phone line. I even had one of those clear plastic phones that would light up when it would ring. I was officially cool.
High school came and went and I didn’t date much. I would occasionally find myself with a boyfriend (a term I would use loosely here) but it really only involved us meeting by my locker at break and exchanging notes or me doodling “I love SOS” on the top of my folders. Most of my love affairs were from afar. I would focus all my attention on one guy and I would remain loyal to them, regardless if we were dating or not. This has been a very hard habit to break.
My college dating life was… interesting. But I did date. I had a few short and failed relationships and one long term relationship. But looking back, I was so overcome with my own insecurities any relationship actually succeeding really was next to impossible. But then again, aren’t we all insecure in college?
In December of 2006, I moved to New York City and visions of glorious dates and perfect boyfriends danced through my head. I knew this city would open up so many doors for dating I would be overcome with options. I would be beating men off with a bat. I would live on Park Avenue, spend my days in Manolo Blahnik’s with Mr. Big on my arm and a smile on my face. Needless to say, I was lied to.
One evening while at a swanky martini bar, I met a very good looking attorney in a suit who lived on the upper west side. We chatted, we danced, we laughed. I had a nice time. Then, in the middle of our nice, slightly intoxicated conversation he literally screams at me, “I want to fuck you senseless”. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so I got up from my seat, gathered my things and left the bar. He proceeded to try and follow me home.
A few months later at a friend’s dinner party, I met a very charming British man. After a bit of hesitation, I gave him my number and we went out a few times. Things seemed to be going well and we made plans for the coming weekend. I never heard from him again. I pretend he died.
I met another lovely gentleman through a friend and a very strong connection developed between us that went from zero to sixty in a two week period. One morning he told me he was going to check the meter on his car and never came back. A part of me wonders if he’s still wandering the streets of Astoria trying to find his way back to my apartment.
Then a big relationship came with the closest thing I ever found to my Mr. Big. He was tall, Italian, loud and extremely cold and emotionally unavailable. I was completely in love. Finally after two years, I decided to tell him this. And he finally decides to tell me he can’t offer me anything. And the only way I could get away from him was to move across the country.
So, as I write this blog from my parents basement, I realize I went from one extreme to another. In New York, I was a bit of a prude. I was considered shy and maybe even slightly moderate in my political views. In New York, people don’t give a shit if you’re bisexual, transgender or a dragqueen. And I like it that way. But here, in the land of conservatives, I’m a raging liberal, over confident and maybe even a bit of a hussy. Everything from my politics to my favorite television shows are thought to be ridiculous. I was even told on my most recent date that “any woman who watches Sex and the City is flippant and retarded”. What?
So, what ARE my options? I suppose I can keep hoping that maybe somewhere down here in the south there's a single liberal looking for love. Or I could give the convent a call. I'm sure they have an extra bed for this single girl.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
the impact of a bathroom sink
I was fascinated by my third grade teacher. She was a tall, thin, older woman who wore full body lingerie that would sometimes peak out from under her bright yellow and green suits. I couldn’t help but stare with my jaw to the floor when I noticed the black lace. I thought people only wore things like that in movies I wasn’t allowed to see. She had long, pointy red fingernails – always freshly polished and the perfect shade of red that matched her curly red hair.
I assumed she was someone very special because along the side of her bright red hair, she had a long thick chunk of perfectly silver hair that she referred to as her birthmark. I also had a birthmark. Mommy said God gave it to me because I was so special. But mine wasn’t pretty like hers. Mine was on the right side of my torso and was referred to as a “strawberry birthmark” and looked kind of mushy. But to have a silver birthmark in your hair?! Then she must be extra special. I think she must have known she was special, too. She was always going in the bathroom to “freshen up”, and between lessons would grab a mirror from her purse and reapply red lipstick and powder her face. Yes, she was obviously someone very important. I wanted her to like me and teach me how to be pretty. She would talk to us about her weight struggles, but I couldn’t understand what she was referring to. She was already so thin.
One day after she read us our afternoon story, we sat surrounding her on the floor while she proceeded to tell her group of eight year olds that her sister was in the hospital. Apparently, her sister also thought she was fat. So fat she would throw up everything she would eat. But this time she threw up the lining of her stomach. When hearing this, my face became hot. I was dizzy. I was scared and curious all at the same time.
The next day during a routine bathroom break, it was announced by one of my fellow female classmates we would be holding a contest to see who was the fattest girl in the class. This would be determined by who couldn’t fit between the bathroom sinks. I stood there staring at these sinks with mere inches between them and wondered how anyone would be able to squeeze themselves in. The first girl went. She made it. The second did, too. And so did the third. One after another, these little waifs managed to do it. They all fit. And I was last.
I wanted to run. I wanted my teacher to come in and tell us break was over. I needed an escape. Yet, I found myself approaching the sinks with a racing heart and sweaty palms. Dear god, I thought. Please, please, PLEASE let me fit. Don’t let me be the fattest girl in the class.
I was taller than everyone else, so my hips were the first to try to fit. They couldn’t. I bent my knees, thinking I could squeeze my waist in. I sucked in. I pushed so hard it sent a pain through my entire body. I tried so hard, struggling and giving it everything I had. A little less than half of me made it through and I stood there, awkwardly bent at the knees, humiliated and holding back tears with the realization the contest was over: I was the fattest girl in the class.
All the girls laughed and celebrated their victory and I was left alone in the bathroom with my new title. One I would hold on to for the next twenty years of my life, regardless of my weight.
Even now at age 27, that moment will come flooding back to me from time to time. It's amazing...all the beautiful and incredible things I've been told throughout my life, a bathroom sink can determine a lifetime.
hm.
I assumed she was someone very special because along the side of her bright red hair, she had a long thick chunk of perfectly silver hair that she referred to as her birthmark. I also had a birthmark. Mommy said God gave it to me because I was so special. But mine wasn’t pretty like hers. Mine was on the right side of my torso and was referred to as a “strawberry birthmark” and looked kind of mushy. But to have a silver birthmark in your hair?! Then she must be extra special. I think she must have known she was special, too. She was always going in the bathroom to “freshen up”, and between lessons would grab a mirror from her purse and reapply red lipstick and powder her face. Yes, she was obviously someone very important. I wanted her to like me and teach me how to be pretty. She would talk to us about her weight struggles, but I couldn’t understand what she was referring to. She was already so thin.
One day after she read us our afternoon story, we sat surrounding her on the floor while she proceeded to tell her group of eight year olds that her sister was in the hospital. Apparently, her sister also thought she was fat. So fat she would throw up everything she would eat. But this time she threw up the lining of her stomach. When hearing this, my face became hot. I was dizzy. I was scared and curious all at the same time.
The next day during a routine bathroom break, it was announced by one of my fellow female classmates we would be holding a contest to see who was the fattest girl in the class. This would be determined by who couldn’t fit between the bathroom sinks. I stood there staring at these sinks with mere inches between them and wondered how anyone would be able to squeeze themselves in. The first girl went. She made it. The second did, too. And so did the third. One after another, these little waifs managed to do it. They all fit. And I was last.
I wanted to run. I wanted my teacher to come in and tell us break was over. I needed an escape. Yet, I found myself approaching the sinks with a racing heart and sweaty palms. Dear god, I thought. Please, please, PLEASE let me fit. Don’t let me be the fattest girl in the class.
I was taller than everyone else, so my hips were the first to try to fit. They couldn’t. I bent my knees, thinking I could squeeze my waist in. I sucked in. I pushed so hard it sent a pain through my entire body. I tried so hard, struggling and giving it everything I had. A little less than half of me made it through and I stood there, awkwardly bent at the knees, humiliated and holding back tears with the realization the contest was over: I was the fattest girl in the class.
All the girls laughed and celebrated their victory and I was left alone in the bathroom with my new title. One I would hold on to for the next twenty years of my life, regardless of my weight.
Even now at age 27, that moment will come flooding back to me from time to time. It's amazing...all the beautiful and incredible things I've been told throughout my life, a bathroom sink can determine a lifetime.
hm.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I'm going to need some new pajamas.
As I sit in my parents living room this Thursday evening eating my half a cup of ice cream, the cat tormenting the dogs, my mother reading her kindle desperately trying to tune everyone out, my father snoring on the couch with my grandma beside him wearing her wig titled too far back showing a bit too much forehead, I stop and ask myself...how did I get here?
I live in pajamas. Any excuse I have to actually put make up on is a big day. My days usually involve the same routine: I get up, check email/apply for new job postings (which my cover letters are becoming increasingly more desperate), go upstairs and grab some food, avoid grandma, go back downstairs and transfer from pajamas to gym clothes, go to gym, come back, shower, put pajamas back on, pretend to be a life coach, and continue to avoid grandma. Have I mentioned I'm 27?
I used to think I loved downtime. I loved nothing more than curling up on my sofa and watching Oprah. And sleeping in? Quite possibly the best feeling ever. I'm learning there truly can be too much of a good thing. Who knew I'd reach a point in my life when I'd actually miss getting up before the sun. However, I must not be too desperate because I've never even considered walking into a restaurant for work. What about stripping?
I mentioned before that my astrologer said I'd be living in limbo until October. I find this to be a blessing and a curse to receive this information (not to mention, with the way things are going, completely horrifying). On one hand, I keep telling myself this 'drought' will end. However, any opportunity that starts to show itself I think, "According to Astrologer John, nothing will happen until October. So, whatever.". And could this attitude really be affecting the way my life is going. Eh. I dunno. All that energy and universe talk can sometimes just make me even more frustrated.
I just hope something happens. Let's not ring in 2012 in my parents basement.
By the way, my grandma just farted. Help.
I live in pajamas. Any excuse I have to actually put make up on is a big day. My days usually involve the same routine: I get up, check email/apply for new job postings (which my cover letters are becoming increasingly more desperate), go upstairs and grab some food, avoid grandma, go back downstairs and transfer from pajamas to gym clothes, go to gym, come back, shower, put pajamas back on, pretend to be a life coach, and continue to avoid grandma. Have I mentioned I'm 27?
I used to think I loved downtime. I loved nothing more than curling up on my sofa and watching Oprah. And sleeping in? Quite possibly the best feeling ever. I'm learning there truly can be too much of a good thing. Who knew I'd reach a point in my life when I'd actually miss getting up before the sun. However, I must not be too desperate because I've never even considered walking into a restaurant for work. What about stripping?
I mentioned before that my astrologer said I'd be living in limbo until October. I find this to be a blessing and a curse to receive this information (not to mention, with the way things are going, completely horrifying). On one hand, I keep telling myself this 'drought' will end. However, any opportunity that starts to show itself I think, "According to Astrologer John, nothing will happen until October. So, whatever.". And could this attitude really be affecting the way my life is going. Eh. I dunno. All that energy and universe talk can sometimes just make me even more frustrated.
I just hope something happens. Let's not ring in 2012 in my parents basement.
By the way, my grandma just farted. Help.
Monday, January 24, 2011
a miracle weight loss product
I discovered the weight loss miracle when I was in third grade. You see, the hatred I feel toward my body began at this age. And one day while rummaging through the kitchen after school, I came across something that promised to make me thin very, very quickly.
I began drinking this miracle of miracles every day after school. I would get off the bus and quickly run in the house and chug, chug, chug ...and then sit and wait. Surely, it would take effect at any moment. But how, I wondered? Maybe the fat would simply melt off. I visualized myself beginning to boil like a pot of water and steaming from every hole in my body. Do I have to poop it out? Or would the fat turn to air in my body and I would have horrible, smelly, embarrassing gas until I was thin? While these seemed rather unpleasant, I was willing to make the sacrifice. So, after a week of chugging the gritty, chocolaty drink and keeping it from my mother, I was surprised to see zero difference in my body. Why wasn’t the fat melting away? Certainly, something will happen. I must be patient with this life changing drink; this SlimFast.
Two weeks later and still no thinner, my Mom was making lunch for herself. “What happened to all my Slim Fast??” she asked. My third grade mind began to panic. Do I confess? I found this incredible drink that holds so much power! But, truth be told, I don’t know much about it. Was she going to get mad? How serious is this SlimFast product? Would I have to go to the hospital because of it? Could I die by drinking SlimFast?
I cried. I broke down. I confessed everything. I told her I had been using this mystery product to slim me down fast. I asked her through sobs if I was going to die.
“What? Are you going to die from Slim Fast?” Mom says smiling.
“YES! Waahhh!”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Jessica. It’s not going to kill you! But why were you drinking it?”
“I wanted to slim down fast! I wanted my fat to melt away.”
After a lecture from my parents, I learned the hard truth of SlimFast: “Drink with a sensible meal”. It was explained that this drink was simply nutrients packed in powder and nothing was promising to slim me down. And especially not fast. I thought that was a pretty awful and misleading name of a product.
I was lied to by the SlimFast people, whoever they are.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
i seem to have misplaced my humor. have you seen it?
About six months before I moved from New York, I visited an astrologer. And I don't mean a lady with a crystal ball. He was actually a professor of astrology and cost a pretty penny and about two hours of my time. Not to mention the whole thing was recorded. I gave him some pretty limited info... my date of birth (month, date, and year), the time I was born and where I was born. To say I was surprised, shocked and slightly disturbed by all he told me from that info is an understatement.
I was very excited before the session started; excited to see how bright and shiny my future was going to be.
First, he tells me I'm too picky. In nearly every area of my life, particularly with dating. (check.)
Then he tells me I would begin the darkest year of my life starting in October of 2010. (check.)
I am twenty-seven years old. Roughly three months ago, I moved out of my adorable, quaint and overpriced one bedroom apartment in New York and relocated to my parents basement in Conyers, Georgia. I am unemployed, single and have gained more weight than I ever thought possible. I have applied for more than fifty jobs, sent out an additional thirty-five resumes and am attending a job fair on Tuesday to work in sales, a career in which I have no interest. This is not where I saw myself at this age.
I lived in New York for four years. When I moved there, I had every intention of living the life of Carrie Bradshaw -- Manolo's, Mr. Big and all. (Sex and the City...for those who don't know. And if you don't, shame on you.) But somehow I ended up spending four years waiting tables, auditioning with six hundred other women packed in one tiny room, and spending three years chasing after a very unavailable man. I can't help but ask myself if I threw away four good years.
Apparently after I go through this "dark" period, I am supposed to reach one of the "brightest" points in my life starting in October of 2011, romance included. I'm also supposed to be very successful with my voice...whether as a singer or in voice overs, he didn't know -- but let's assume it's both. Then again, he also told me not to leave New York yet. Oops.
I suppose in order to appreciate the light, we have to experience the dark first?
I was very excited before the session started; excited to see how bright and shiny my future was going to be.
First, he tells me I'm too picky. In nearly every area of my life, particularly with dating. (check.)
Then he tells me I would begin the darkest year of my life starting in October of 2010. (check.)
I am twenty-seven years old. Roughly three months ago, I moved out of my adorable, quaint and overpriced one bedroom apartment in New York and relocated to my parents basement in Conyers, Georgia. I am unemployed, single and have gained more weight than I ever thought possible. I have applied for more than fifty jobs, sent out an additional thirty-five resumes and am attending a job fair on Tuesday to work in sales, a career in which I have no interest. This is not where I saw myself at this age.
I lived in New York for four years. When I moved there, I had every intention of living the life of Carrie Bradshaw -- Manolo's, Mr. Big and all. (Sex and the City...for those who don't know. And if you don't, shame on you.) But somehow I ended up spending four years waiting tables, auditioning with six hundred other women packed in one tiny room, and spending three years chasing after a very unavailable man. I can't help but ask myself if I threw away four good years.
Apparently after I go through this "dark" period, I am supposed to reach one of the "brightest" points in my life starting in October of 2011, romance included. I'm also supposed to be very successful with my voice...whether as a singer or in voice overs, he didn't know -- but let's assume it's both. Then again, he also told me not to leave New York yet. Oops.
I suppose in order to appreciate the light, we have to experience the dark first?
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
in the ATL with G-MA
i've missed you, blogspot.
there's been quite a few changes -- one being i am no longer a times square waitress.
(do i hear angels singing, or is that just me?)
but no need to worry. there's still plenty to discuss. one being i am now living with my parents. and my 86 year old grandmother.
yup.
the first thing i have concluded about my g-ma is.... she is a robot. she will live forever. even after two heart attacks, a triple by pass heart surgery and a stroke, she's still kickin' it. and even continues to smoke a pack a day.
she also wears a wig as is an agoraphobic. (for those who don't know, that basically means she doesn't leave the house. ever. except maybe to get the mail.) occasionally she'll make a trip out to the corner store and quietly ask for her cigarettes and lottery tickets. otherwise, her days are spent with doing the laundry and obsessing over our two dogs.
she also says really funny things. my current favorite:
grandma putters out from her bedroom and reaches the living room and looks awkwardly at my mother. after a minute my mother says: what? grandma says: do you have any mercury fillings in your teeth? ::insert long silence here:: because the reports aren't good.
she then turns around and returns to her bedroom.
i am also unemployed and desperately seeking work. but until then, i plan on entertaining myself and you with my days with g-ma.
there's been quite a few changes -- one being i am no longer a times square waitress.
(do i hear angels singing, or is that just me?)
but no need to worry. there's still plenty to discuss. one being i am now living with my parents. and my 86 year old grandmother.
yup.
the first thing i have concluded about my g-ma is.... she is a robot. she will live forever. even after two heart attacks, a triple by pass heart surgery and a stroke, she's still kickin' it. and even continues to smoke a pack a day.
she also wears a wig as is an agoraphobic. (for those who don't know, that basically means she doesn't leave the house. ever. except maybe to get the mail.) occasionally she'll make a trip out to the corner store and quietly ask for her cigarettes and lottery tickets. otherwise, her days are spent with doing the laundry and obsessing over our two dogs.
she also says really funny things. my current favorite:
grandma putters out from her bedroom and reaches the living room and looks awkwardly at my mother. after a minute my mother says: what? grandma says: do you have any mercury fillings in your teeth? ::insert long silence here:: because the reports aren't good.
she then turns around and returns to her bedroom.
i am also unemployed and desperately seeking work. but until then, i plan on entertaining myself and you with my days with g-ma.
Monday, November 2, 2009
former fatty
I started hating my body when I was in third grade. That's the first time I remember being aware of "weight" and "dieting" and suddenly craving a different waist, different arms or legs. My third grade teacher, Mrs. Wilder, was a very open to her third grade students about her battle with weight and even shared how her sister was hospitalized because she threw up so much, she completely ripped out her stomach lining. Soon after those stories were told to the class, the girls decided to play a game every day in the bathroom. It wasn't really a game but more of a test. There were three sinks in the girls bathroom, each with maybe 3 or 4 inches of space between them. Two of the girls stated one day during our bathroom break if you couldn't fit between the sinks, you were fat. Somehow, those two little waifs managed to squeeze themselves between the sinks, however I couldn't; therefore, I was a fatty. Later I learned one of the girls got pregnant right out of high school and the other got a painfully obvious boob job.
For whatever reason, that moment has stuck with me. I remember the first time someone actually called me fat. I was in the sixth grade and it was a Friday. I was going to be checked out of school a half hour early to go shopping with my best friend Lindsay and her mom. When I was called to leave, I grabbed my things and hurried down the hall to get Lindsay and excitedly knocked on her homeroom door. One of the kids let me in and as I walked in the room, a lovely boy by the name of Kiev yelled across the room, "HEY! You were the hippopotamus in my band class today!" Everyone laughed. And a little part of me died. Of course my shopping experience for the day was ruined and that moment started an obsession with my weight and appearance which would last me a lifetime. Kiev of course turned out to be quite a gem -- landing himself in jail multiple times for intelligent crimes such as driving drunk and running into a mailbox. I guess sometimes karma really does bite you in the ass.
I think people who crave to be thin really crave invisibility. Or maybe the crave to be thin is really a craving to disappear. I wanted to disappear in middle school and felt invisible for those three long years. As I got older and into high school, I used to stand in front of the mirror before I got in the shower and stare at the areas I hated most on my body and criticize them. At times I would poke and pinch certain areas so hard I would leave a bruise. I felt if I hated my stomach enough, maybe it would go away. High school is somewhat of a blur and I don't remember a lot. However, I was very involved in things like theatre, chorus, colorguard and had a lot of friends. I hid the hatred for myself very well.
I ended up going to college for musical theatre and quickly learned of the importance of "look" when it came to landing a job in the business. The first show I auditioned for was "Chicago" and the director had us wear nothing but tights and a leotard and stand in front of him while he judged our bodies. I was cut immediately. Soon after this experience, I found myself eating only a bowl of cereal or a tiny can of dry tuna a day. Before I knew it, the weight was coming off and people were starting the notice. I also lost all color in my face, my hair and nails were dry and brittle and I couldn't get through a dance class without becoming horribly dizzy. But the dizzier I became and the more people told me how thin I was getting, the less I ate. I loved feeling hungry -- it was so powerful. If I went to bed starving, I felt as if I had accomplished something and I felt completely in control. I loved it.
This didn't last. I feel people who have a tendancy toward eating disorders go one of two ways -- either they simply get over it or they nearly die. I got over it. And while I started eating again, my way of thinking never changed. I hated myself every time I ate and felt guilty at every meal.
My weight has yo-yo'd a lot over the years. I look back at pictures of myself in college and see how beautiful I was -- and in no way was I fat. It's sad to think of all the time I wasted and all the experiences I lost out on all because I hated my body. I've worked so hard these last six months to change my thinking, and while I've come a long way, I'm not there yet. I suppose it took me 26 years to get this way -- it's going to take a little time to change it.
I feel the media has a HUGE effect on adolescent women and their body images, but that's another blog.
For whatever reason, that moment has stuck with me. I remember the first time someone actually called me fat. I was in the sixth grade and it was a Friday. I was going to be checked out of school a half hour early to go shopping with my best friend Lindsay and her mom. When I was called to leave, I grabbed my things and hurried down the hall to get Lindsay and excitedly knocked on her homeroom door. One of the kids let me in and as I walked in the room, a lovely boy by the name of Kiev yelled across the room, "HEY! You were the hippopotamus in my band class today!" Everyone laughed. And a little part of me died. Of course my shopping experience for the day was ruined and that moment started an obsession with my weight and appearance which would last me a lifetime. Kiev of course turned out to be quite a gem -- landing himself in jail multiple times for intelligent crimes such as driving drunk and running into a mailbox. I guess sometimes karma really does bite you in the ass.
I think people who crave to be thin really crave invisibility. Or maybe the crave to be thin is really a craving to disappear. I wanted to disappear in middle school and felt invisible for those three long years. As I got older and into high school, I used to stand in front of the mirror before I got in the shower and stare at the areas I hated most on my body and criticize them. At times I would poke and pinch certain areas so hard I would leave a bruise. I felt if I hated my stomach enough, maybe it would go away. High school is somewhat of a blur and I don't remember a lot. However, I was very involved in things like theatre, chorus, colorguard and had a lot of friends. I hid the hatred for myself very well.
I ended up going to college for musical theatre and quickly learned of the importance of "look" when it came to landing a job in the business. The first show I auditioned for was "Chicago" and the director had us wear nothing but tights and a leotard and stand in front of him while he judged our bodies. I was cut immediately. Soon after this experience, I found myself eating only a bowl of cereal or a tiny can of dry tuna a day. Before I knew it, the weight was coming off and people were starting the notice. I also lost all color in my face, my hair and nails were dry and brittle and I couldn't get through a dance class without becoming horribly dizzy. But the dizzier I became and the more people told me how thin I was getting, the less I ate. I loved feeling hungry -- it was so powerful. If I went to bed starving, I felt as if I had accomplished something and I felt completely in control. I loved it.
This didn't last. I feel people who have a tendancy toward eating disorders go one of two ways -- either they simply get over it or they nearly die. I got over it. And while I started eating again, my way of thinking never changed. I hated myself every time I ate and felt guilty at every meal.
My weight has yo-yo'd a lot over the years. I look back at pictures of myself in college and see how beautiful I was -- and in no way was I fat. It's sad to think of all the time I wasted and all the experiences I lost out on all because I hated my body. I've worked so hard these last six months to change my thinking, and while I've come a long way, I'm not there yet. I suppose it took me 26 years to get this way -- it's going to take a little time to change it.
I feel the media has a HUGE effect on adolescent women and their body images, but that's another blog.
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