Help me breathe better

"You know what I wanted the most?" he asked as he shlyly, focused on the brim of the wine glass.

"What's that?"

He looked up from his glass and locked his eyes with her. The light hanging overhead left a twinkle in his eyes. "Just to see your pretty face. It kept me happy." He smiled and looked back down at something that wouldn't judge him. "I bet you didn't know that."

"No, I didn't." She swore she saw the night sky in his eyes, and for the first time in her life, she understood why the stars were so beautiful.




Did you know that curvy poop is a sign of good health? About three years ago I watched Oprah (the gatekeeper to the Universe) and she invited Dr. Oz (a less ridiculous version of Dr. Phil) on the show to discuss good health. Somehow the topic of conversation swithced to bowel movements and what's healthy. Curvy poop (preferably "S" shaped) is healthy, as well is fecal matter which does not make a sound as it hits the water in the toilet. I never forgot this bit of information, and a few weeks later, in Biology class, a menacing goup of us had a sub and we discussed stupid shit...quite literally :). It turns out that the guys thought splashing signs were healthy and we argued about this for some time. In the end, I was naturally wrong, and they were correct--but I know the truth. I know poop. I know what it's supposed to look like. I know what it's supposed to sound like. I'm THE poop expert. This special poop episode on Oprah made me laugh, because several months later, my family and I went to Kentucky to visit my uncle (before his accident). We went to Southern Kentucky, borderline Tennessee (true toothless town) where there were vacation lakes. We spent the day at "the beach"--a lake roped off, with sand thrown around it--and my mom and I were chillin in the little huts (smarter than the dumbasses swimming in "an ocean" brimming with disease) when we saw one of the women swimming, waddle out like she had a stick up her ass, and into the bathrooms. Didn't think much of it until madre and I made an excursion into the same bathroom and found poop. Okay, I say poop, but I should say chocolate soft serve--extra, extra large. This thing was curvy. This thing was tall. This thing could not be flushed for shit (no pun intended). It was an anaconda coiled in the toilet bowl. My mom and I laughed, choked from the stench in the one-hundred degree weather and blamed it on the lady who waddled because she had a fifteen foot snake in her rectum. Granted, it was funny to chuckle at her, but, according to Dr. Oz, she is healthy. So kudos to the lady who can walk decently well with a load in her butt--you, my friend, are one healthy son of a B.

I was promised a Reptar pillowcase if I go to the doctor. I figure that I win either way. Well, when it comes to Billy and me, I ALWAYS win, but that's besides the point. I was gonna go the the doctor anyway, and now, for being a good little Saltine, I might just get my Reptar pillowcase. I'm not really sure if they exist or not--I'm sure some douche is selling it on ebay or something--but I really, really want one. I wouldn't make it my Facebook status if I didn't mean it, damnit. I'm gonna call tomorrow and hopefully get an appointment set up so Billy doesn't light the said pillowcase on fire. eek. The pain is still bad, but it lessens here or there. We all have our own guesses as to what it is, but most people are thinking ovarian cysts. To make light of my damaged uterus, I'm going to start a pool before I actually become diagnosed with something. Maybe you'll win if you think I have cysts, endometriosis, pregnancy, or the plague. Who knows? Anyone want to make a wager, eh?

A new show "How to Look Good Naked" has surfaced to the American airwaves. Yes, the genius was first British, and us Americans stole it. However, it is genius either way. Take women who have a bad body image, and make them stand in front of a mirror, half naked and tell the world what they feel is wrong with them. It turns out that the torture works. Having your blubber hang out over your bra and panties in front of a room of mirrors is good therapy. I watched the first episode online and I felt liberated. This woman in the pilot episode was so brave. She really hated herself because she didn't look like the models on TV, but, in the end she found herself beautiful. It just amazes me how much media takes advantage of our mindsets. I think media as a whole is a pigly, gross bastard, asshole man. He brainwashes us and makes us perceive ourselves as worse than we are. We feel ugly and unwanted. Well, after watching the show, I kicked him in the nuts. Media deserves to die; it's blown out of proportion. Essentially, it's a different show and it brings a new perspective to beauty. They took a picture of this chick in her bra and panties and put her body on a billboard in the city and though she wasn't "perfect" the average man had something positive to say about her boobs, thighs, calves, etc. It turns out that you dont have to look like a toothpick to get some sort of attention. I'm glad for this show and it makes you want to love yourself, regardless. A part of the show is having the woman tell Carson what she hates the most about her and then he helps them realize that what they hate about themselves is made worse by self-perception. This chick hated her hips, so he measured her hips and put her in a room with other chicks in their underwear, with slimmer and wider hips. Then he tells her to place herself where she thinks she belongs, and she thought her hips were bigger than they were. I watched this show and did the same thing with myself, only with my body in general. I thought, Hey, I'd belong there because of a, b,c and then I realized that I did the same thing as the other women. If I were in that room, I'd most likely put myself between chicks and be in the wrong spot. It's how we're brainwashed. So fuck it. I want to be done with it but it's dumb to think that I will. It's just the way our sick world works.

I'm one of those people who can never find constellations. I am always the chick who, when directed to where one is, I pretend that I do because I have no fucking clue how to find shapes in the stars. Well, those days are over. I'm probably wrong, but I'm almost sure that I saw the Big Dipper in the sky. It was that night sky that you have to look up and stare at. It's the kind of sky that lets you know you're not life's purpose. I think cold weather makes the night sky even prettier. I was letting my perve of a dog out to pee, and I glanced at the sky and just focused in on it. I saw stars in a pattern and then I saw a handle! God, let me tell you, I was ready to squat and go pee pee's with Tobie when I found the Big Dipper. And now that I think I saw it, my life will never be the same again. I feel like I'm part of a new group. No, not the sex screamers or the NRA...or KKK...or AAA...or AA, but the constellation finders. Knowing that I pieced a puzzle to the universe, makes me feel small again. werd.



"You think I'm dumb, don't you?"

"No." And she had nothing left to say. The stars in his eyes disappeared and glass remained. Fuck the stars, she thought. What do they know anyway?