Comfortable With Conformity
I blow-dried my hair even though it's raining. Anyone with curly or wavy hair knows that humidity destroys a good blow-dry (I almost typed blow-job). I have long, dark brown frizzy hair that is flat on the top and curls at the ends. I have to blow-dry it straight everyday just for it to look passable. Back in the early nineties, before straightening was in style, I gelled it with Vidal Sassoon and scrunched it up and hairsprayed my bangs so they stood up and at an angle to the right. I thought I was so cool. Wanna see a picture? I would post it but I don't have a host as of now so e-mail me if you're interested.
I want to state that I am getting sick of working out. I love exercise as a concept, but I'm finding it to be very tedious. I find myself sighing as I put one leg over my exercise bike. Then I peddle to The Golden Girls or The Real World for thrity minutes, do a grueling 15 minutes of Abs of Steel, pick up my weights and pump away for another 15 minutes. You would THINK I would be lean and buff with a flat stomach and tight little arms. I'm so not that. I'm 5ft 3, always fluctuatuing between 120-140 pounds and thick. Thick like Jennifer Lopez thick, but not as beautiful. I have a very big ass and wide hips and round, curvy calves. I have a bulgy stomach and small breasts that fluctuate from a B to a small C. I've never had the kind of body guys gawked at. Wait, I take that back. There have been times, yes. Times when I wore the short shorts and the low-cut top. Very few times. Boys have gawked, yes, but it's not the usual. Usually, they gawk at my sister. But wouldn't you gawk at someone who's 120 pounds with double Ds?
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