So, I was challenged by a friend to do some push-ups. It was here that I realized that I am a musician, never a fitness guru.
Number of push-ups: 7
Then I realized that I was using the muscles in my lower back to do those push-ups and that REALLY hurt.
So, seven is where I stand.
Can YOU beat me??
Number of my friends from high school who are now engaged or married: four.
All my age — 18 or 19. All graduated last year. None of them has experienced the single life.
I pity them.
Or do I pity me?
“I too will be married someday, simply for the cake and the good excuse to take dancing lessons.”
I am furious. Absolutely furious.
This evening was the extremely-publicized and worked-up Miss America Pageant, that was supposed to be completely updated and extremely different from the years and years of big hair, safe answers, glitter, over-glamour, bikinis, and “dancer’s face.”
So much for that idea.
I guess the only way to win was to sell-out. The only ones who didn’t sell out was Jill Stevens, miss Utah, and Sadie Quiley, Miss Idaho. Of course, I am from Utah, but again, she was they were only girls who refused to conform to the world’s new form of beauty — barely-there bikinis, dresses to show off their “best assets” (boobs, butt, back, and thighs — I thought it was supposed to be their brains?), hair that resembles that of a senator’s wife, and makeup that kind of reminds me of how a lot of the girls in Jr. High looked like when they were first allowed to wear makeup and had yet to be educated on the beauty of subtlety.
I’m so infuriated I am giving up on making my sentences coherent.
Miss Michigan (our new Miss America — What a cop-out) sang possibly the MOST SUNG SONG OF AAAALLLLL TIIIIIIME. Although, it is a fantastic song, if you’re REALLY trying to update the show, SING SOMETHING THAT HASN’T BEEN SUNG TWO MILLION TIMES BEFORE!!! And frankly, I think she slaughtered it. I literally cringed and was writhing in pain during most of the train wreck. Her dress basically looked like she was wearing nothing but glitter in all the right places. So much for the “cotoure” thing. Also, they really didn’t need to take the crown off the previous Miss America, because frankly, they could have been the same person. White, blonde, with hair with enough hairspray in it to create another hole in the ozone layer. She could also have been Britney Spears:
(for full-size image, go to http://img32.picoodle.com/img/img32/4/1/26/f_brittneyandm_f074ea1.jpg)
Just goes to prove that if you are white, blonde, use enough hairspray to create another hole in the ozone layer, and wear sparkles in all the right places, even YOU can become famous!
I was very disappointed that America’s choice was eliminated the first chance the judges got. She was the only one to wear a one-piece (or rather, was able to show it off — Miss Idaho would have worn one too, and fought very hard to be able to, Kudos to her)– a very bold move that apparently scared the judges out of their pants. “Holy — Wha?? We don’t want America’s women to stop wearing bikinis!! We want to see those navels! OFF WITH HER HEAD!” I have no words to describe my fury…
I believe that the judges should have gone through the reality check. An especial favorite judge of mine was Jason La Padura — Casting director of the atrocity that is High School Musical, the ridiculously popular Disney movie that is proof that in order to make money in the acting business, you must sell out, and sell out hard, which is exactly what La Padura did. Thank you La Padura for endorsing selling out to make it big. You make us proud.
It is a known fact that Utah is it’s own little “special” world. I have lived that this “special” world for the larger part of my life. It’s rather lovely here, except, of course, it contains no semblance whatsoever to the so-called “real” world. I have no real comparisons to make, because I have no idea what the real world is actually like, apart from what I see on reality TV shows. So, from a Utahn’s perspective of what the real world is like from my 14-inch TV screen, here is what I surmise would be my experience anywhere but Utah/Idaho. (also, see http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/Utah for a deep and “insightful” view of Utah and it’s “culture”)
If I were to move out and live in the real world, I would live in an apartment with a nice balcony where I would have parties every night. I would always be worried about my next payment, but somehow, I lived in a rather nice apartment with brightly-colored walls and lavish furnishings. I would always be in a fight with one of my girlfriends, and I would always be crushing on my best friend’s boyfriend. Meanwhile, I am also falling in like with my adorable landlord, who I see at the gym every day. I would have a never-ending wardrobe that would fit me perfectly, and I would never wear the same thing twice. I would never have to worry about my jeans not staying up because they would be perfectly fitted to my body shape and size. I would work all day to come home to nine catty girls, all equally as attractive as myself and working towards the same goal. I would meet with famous people every day, and even though I also had to work a real job, I would do awesome things like go on shopping sprees and get photographed endlessly all day. Somehow. I would monopolize the phone and make out with lots of men.
And yet, somehow, I would find time to tend to the ranch and tell everyone about my parents with dwarf-syndrome. I would also go out and do crazy things like bungee-jumping and water-skiing and blowing up hot water heaters all the time, and go to awesome places like Paris, Japan, and Australia. I would go to the beach all the time and get the perfect tan, and have perfectly manicured nails every day.
It would be amazing.
And yet very, very wrong.
I don’t think I want to live in the real world.
I watch a ridiculous amount of television. So much that I have realized how often MTV does America’s Next Top Model marathons. It’s ludicrous how much it sucks me in — I just can’t seem to peel myself away from the television set when it’s on. It may be because the photographic art is something I find absolutely fascinating. It may be that I enjoy watching the over-blown drama between all those estrogen-filled girls in one small house play out. It may be because I find Tyra Banks or “Miss” Jay absolutely hilarious. Or maybe it’s because I secretly want to be like those high-rolling almost-famous ultra-gorgeous girls on that show.
Personally, I think it’s the last reason.
So, I took it upon myself to see if I really had what it takes to be AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL. Of course, I downsized it a bit — I took all the pictures of myself by myself, wore a lot shorter heels, and my “catwalk” ended up being the hallway in my small dormroom+kitchen.
So, here are the three criteria I judged myself on: Pictures, “the walk,” and personality.
Criteria 1: Pictures
Frankly, I feel that I failed miserably in this area. Possibly because I do NOT have the body of a model, nor do I have any freaky facial features like a “five-head” (large forehead), eyes that are too far apart, strangely poofy lips, cheekbones that could gut a fish, an almost manly jawline, perfect skin, or a uniquely shaped nose. And the braces kind of ruin the whole “fierce” effect and turn it into a more… “In the process” look. Also, I am incapable of taking a serious picture — I feel slightly vain when I try it. And I feel I look even more ridiculous when I don’t have my face in some kind of contorted position.
On the plus side, I think I could look pretty fierce if I put on a huge amount of dark makeup and rat & hairspray my hair to the point where I look almost like a white black person, I could look “fierce” enough to make it. But sadly, I am running out of hairspray, and I don’t own enough makeup for the “undead model” look.
Grade: B+
Criteria 2: “The Walk”
I’ve never been proud of how I walk. In fact, I feel rather ungainly when I walk. My brother’s walk has been characterized to be kind of like a walking gorilla of sorts. So, as I am related to him, we have slightly similar walks. BUT — I was pleasantly surprised when I attempted the “model wind-in-the-hair” walk that I actually WAS getting a pretty good breeze. Although, when I put on some heels (only three inches for fear that I may break my ankle attempting this dangerous activity), the quality and speed of my walk decreased dramatically. Buy hey — with a little practice, I’m sure I can be a walking typhoon.
Grade: B+
Criteria 3: Personality
I’m awesome.
’nuff said.
Grade: A++++++
Okay, seriously. I’m sure I’d come off as rather… misunderstandable? I doubt I’d make many friends of the girls, because, well, I’m addicted to being aloof. But, no matter. I wouldn’t be there to make friends, would I? I’m there to be AMERICA’S NEXT TOP MODEL!!
…
…
I need to stop watching so much TV.
