Marilyn Monroe Was a Size 12

I've pretty much given up on the idea that I will ever be pretty. I think there was a two-week period in the late 90's when I was kind of cute, but that's about it.

This knowledge came about largely as a result of putting on a dress I bought as a freshman in college and discovering that it's now a good two sizes too small around my rear and lower abdomen. (Around the chest, of course, it fits just fine.) I don't know why I haven't reached this conclusion before; five generations of German inbreeding have created a paleness the camera hates. And I'm not even comparing myself to the empty skirts on TV; I'm talking about the women I work with, my cousins, and the chicks I whine about men with on the weekend. They are gorgeous. I either most decidedly am not, or I need to start hanging around uglier people.

Also over the weekend I became officially over my new way-short hair. The body perm I got a month ago seems to have fallen on the floor along with about five inches of blondeness.

I do like my eyes. Those can stay. I shall be always grateful for being a natural blonde. The haircut, I'm afraid, has revealed a darker shade on the back of my head that I can do without. (Thanks, Meg Ryan.) Let's not even talk about the fact that I've been working my thighs nonstop since approximately 1997 with no discernable results. A few days ago I caught sight of myself in a dance studio mirror (don't ask) and I just looked like ass. There is simply no other word for it.

I'm offically past the bloom of youth phase, and from what I understand, things will only continue to go downhill from here. The zits of youth, however, remain.